Angel
by EvelMyst
Summary: A tragic NickGreg love story where Greg was taken before his time, and Nick never thought he could open his heart to love. That was until they met each other and feel deeply in love. However their time together is short only 15 days. How can Nick manage?
1. Reprocussions of Murder

**Angel**

EvelMyst  
**Rating:** PG-to-R-ish (Will vary from Chapter to Chapter)  
**Warnings:** Character Death sort of…& Some violence (Not much)  
**Genre: **AU/Romance/whatever you want...  
**Summary:** Regarded as one of the smartest people in Europe, Dr. Gregory Sanders was destined to make the single largest scientific breakthrough of all man-kind. That was until Death made the single biggest mistake of all time. With the fate of humanity on the line, Death is forced to give Greg an existence after death in order to save all humanity.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters, or likeness of characters from CBS's hit dramatic Televsion show, CSI.

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Chapter One: Repercussions of Murder

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_**(June 28, 1914)**_

The day the Archduke Franz Ferdinand was shot was just an ordinary day for Dr. Gregory Sanders. However, it would be a day that he wouldn't soon forget.

It just so happened on that day, two military colonels arrived at Greg's laboratory. Both carried their side arms predominately over their hips and both with equally stern expressions on their face.

The day was dreary with a light drizzle all day long. This was the highlight of Greg's day, as when he arrived at the lab only thirty minutes behind schedule having been held up by his son who had taken sick with fever only the night before. He arrived and ran to the incubator where he arrived nearly too late to salvage his experiment.

Even though he was able to record the results of his experiment they proved inconclusive. Another attempt at his vaccine went down the drain. It was during this latest temper tantrum that he saw the two well-dressed men adorning his doorway.

"May I help you?" Greg asked with some amount of bitterness in his voice.

"Do you know where we can find Dr. Gregory Sanders?" the officer replied.

"I am Dr. Gregory Sanders." Greg replied uncertainly.

If there was one thing his papa Olaf instilled upon him before he left for the laboratory in London was to be cautious of the military and governments. They were not to be trusted.

Greg never wanted to go to London. He would've much preferred to work in a laboratory closer to home, but this one was the best in the world and for a scientist as well renowned as he was, that was the only place to be. He didn't complain about it though, he just accepted it for what it was and dealt with the misery that surrounded London.

"Dr. Sanders, it is requested that you come with us."

"Excuse me, but I'm not going anywhere with you." Greg turned back to his microscope and pretended to have found something of a great interest to him.

The lead officer nodded to his partner who promptly walked to Greg, taking him by the upper arms and pulled him away from the microscope.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice, Dr. Sanders. His majesty requests you to help our troops' effort in France." The military officer stated. "I trust that you have not forgotten your agreement with the king."

"I haven't forgotten my agreements." Greg assured the men.

"Good, then you will come willingly."

"I will come when and if Britain ever goes into war, as was the terms of my agreement. But I have heard no declaration against this country, so as far as I'm aware I am still a free man." Confidence was always one of Greg's strong suites. It was something he prided himself on.

"Have you not heard? The Archduke of Austria-Hungary was murdered today on his way to an inspection. War has been declared. Or perhaps your focus has been a little too far down your microscope to realize the events of the day." The officer stated coldly and with confidence.

Greg was not inclined to budge a single muscle until he got formal word from the king himself that war had been declared. This wouldn't be the first time trespassers attempted to break into his laboratory to sneak a peak at his results. So, he was not about to move without formal notification from his majesty himself.

The military officer quickly realized this and passed him the king's official document confirming that war was officially declared. Greg quickly read it and then reread it several times. Each time, not believing what he was reading. Several more times he read it and gulped at the words the parchment clearly spoke under the king's seal.

For years now he prayed that this would never come to pass, and now he found that he would be forced to abandon his experiments for now in exchange for working antidotes to German poisons and new poisons to use on the Germans. It was the last job that Greg ever wanted to do. Yet it was that very job that he was being forced into by his majesty the king.

The two military men escorted him to the car and ordered him in. Greg would have loved to protest, but the men had guns at their disposal, and what did Greg have? A few fountain pens, a white lab coat, and a few bucks in his pocket. He had nothing that could compare with the power of the gun. So he slid in the car destined for a place he never wanted to go.

It wasn't a long journey across the channel to Holland, but to Greg it felt like it had taken forever. He felt as though he were being drug into slavery. It was the worst day in his life.

Holland wasn't much better when he got there. Sure, it was a beautiful country, but it wasn't home where he wanted to go. He demanded to see his wife Emma and his month-old son Trevor before he left, but the two officers would not allow that. They said it was better like that.

Between the British officers, they arrived in a luxurious hotel where they reserved a room for the night. It would have been a beautiful place to visit if the circumstances were different, he would have enjoyed this little trip. Inside his room, Greg sat on the chair and looked out the eastern window trying to imagine the enemy stirring in the east. He wondered if they were really as bad as everyone said they were. To Greg, they were just as human as he was. They too had families, and jobs they would prefer to be doing other than fighting them. And for what were they fighting for anyways? The Archduke was murdered. Why does his death lead them to war?

The night passed difficultly for Greg. He found himself dwelling on these questions and tormented by his inability to find the answers. If that wasn't enough, his mind continuously drifted back to his failed experiment. It was there in the wee hours in the morning that he discovered the flaw in his experiment. Unfortunately, he could no longer continue his work on the vaccine. No, he had to create antidotes for the British Army and new chemical weapons for them to hinder the Germans with. Greg found it the cruelest form of science imaginable.

By the next morning, Greg had barely any sleep. The sleep he did get was filled with the unanswered questions and the senselessness of war.

"Come on, let's go," the military officers ordered him. When he refused to roll out of bed, the younger of the two pulled him out and forced him into his clothes. "You will do as you are told." They commanded and Greg wearily nodded.

It was raining outside, but that didn't seem to make a difference to these men. Greg placed the bowler cap upon his head and walked out behind the well-dressed military men.

"You will be stationed in a make shift laboratory in central Luxemburg. They are a neutral country, but that does not mean that you shouldn't watch your step. You can be assured that there will be enemies all around you. We cannot guarantee your safety outside the lab. So I would advice against leaving." With that good advice tucked away in Greg's head, they left for the two hour drive down to the tiny European country.

They drove out to a remote place surrounded by hills. The nearest town was a few kilometers away nestled peacefully. Greg wondered to himself why they would drive him to the middle of nowhere to do his scientific exploration, but did not question them on it. He followed them in the valley of the hills until they came to a small creek at the lowest point of the hills. It was surrounded by thick trees and low-lying shrubs filled with brambles. They fought their way past it as they walked the creek which seemed to disappear behind a hill. The officer pulled the branches back to reveal the tiny mouth of a cave and ordered Greg in.

Now, Greg understood why they drove him to the middle of nowhere. The laboratory had to be hidden. Of course it occurred to him this was set up before the assassination of the Archduke. The officials must have known this was on the horizon, though hoped it would never come. Anyways, Greg always knew if he would be bound to his agreement his work would have to remain top secret.

The tunnels under the hills descended several feet through narrow stairwells carved into the ground. The ambient temperature dropped the further they went and Greg began to wish he had more than just a white flimsy lab coat to keep his body heat. Finally, after several flights of stairs they reached the bottom of the staircase. They kept going until they reached a series of metal doors each with locked handles.

Greg's military escort knocked on the second door to the left and waited. The small flap slid open and two blue eyes appeared through the tiny slot within the door. "Password?" the man asked.

"Jolly good," Greg's escort answered confidently. The lock clicked open and the man quickly opened the door and closed the door. The room was dreary and no less comforting than the dank basement of someone's ill-kept house. In the center of the room sat a massive wood table surrounded by metal chairs. A collection of men had already gathered around the table some of which looked at Greg with a certain amount of awe.

Greg was quite used to this by now. His reputation often precedes him. Though, he wouldn't expect anything less. After all, he was a child genius who rose through the educational ranks very quickly and acquiring his doctorate by the time he turned nineteen. At twenty, Greg had landed a job at London's top laboratory where he was expected to produce the world's greatest scientific discoveries. Nothing less than extraordinary was expected from the young doctor and that was why he was recruited for this job.

"I would like to introduce you to Dr. Gregory Sanders." His escort introduced him to the gathered men.

"Yes, of course, I would recognize you from anywhere." The man sitting at the head table replied immediately. "Come, take a seat, we have much to discuss."

Slowly, Greg made his way to the large rectangular table and took a seat next to the table's head.

"You may go now, conduct your war," he informed Greg's military escorts who nodded and left the room promptly. "It is good to meet you Dr. Sanders."

"Please, call me Greg." The young man requested. He always found it horribly formal when people would refer to him as doctor. Sure he had earned the right to be called doctor if he so wished, but it is also by his own choice that he will be called such.

"Very well, Greg. I am Dr. Henry Flemming, it will be a pleasure working with you." He extended his hand. Reluctantly, Greg accepted Dr. Flemming's outstretched hand, shaking it with a loosely held grip.

"I wish we could be working together on better conditions," Greg answered. He had always dreamt of working with Dr. Flemming. He heard that he was an extraordinary doctor and he was eager to see his techniques.

"As do I."

Dr. Henry Flemming was different than how Greg imagined. He wasn't nearly as tall as the thought. In fact, Dr. Flemming seemed to have a physical build comparable with his own. He was too, tall and lanky. A gangly person if he ever saw one. Despite that, he had a very distinguished appearance. His hair was a faded dark brown highlighted with bits of silver that he kept well groomed. He wore spectacles around his aged eyes framed with wrinkles. Upon his upper lip, a thick silver and black mustache neatly trimmed. He wore a well-pressed suit with a silken red handkerchief in the upper pocket.

"I've heard a bit about your research. I must say that I'm quite intrigued by some of the results that you've put out. Do you really think you will find a vaccine for the common cold?" inquired Flemming with some amount of interest.

"I believe I am on the right track to finding one." Greg answered carefully. One thing he learned quite early was to be weary on who he trusted with sensitive information. This was his project and he would not have another brilliant scientist stealing all the hard work he had put in it. He took every precaution to prevent such thieving, even to the point of writing his notes in a numeric code, which only he could decipher.

A few more people joined the gathering moments later and the meeting was officially on. It was just the same as any meeting Greg had ever been to. Henry Flemming spent a great deal of time jabbering at the people sitting around the table forbidding any from leaving without MP protection or without explicit orders. That meant for Greg that he could count out sneaking off to the town a few kilometers away to get a glass of mead.

Once the meeting concluded, Flemming released the group into the capable hands of the military official who will serve as the laboratory's commanding officer. He handed each member a key with a slip of paper with a map of the facility and the room number to their bunk. He wished everyone good wishes upon a quick end to the war and successful weapons to help the war conclude faster.

Greg found himself on the third level in a room by himself. It wasn't much of a room, as it barely held any furnishings. The walls weren't even painted making the room appear as dark and dreary as the rest of this complex. In the corner sat a lone dark green canvas cot, to the side was a small dresser. Above the cot hung a lamp that neither lit the room well, nor appeared to operate to satisfactory standards. At the cot's foot sat a footlocker, olive green to match the rest of the decoration in the room. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a single rickety chair that looked as though it had seen better days.

The place wasn't even dry as water dripped from the ceiling from the humidity. Greg found it the most miserable place in the world and he could have traded anything to be rid of the place.

With nothing better to do, he sat down on the chair and pulled the small notepad from his pocket and started writing a note to his wife, Emma, and his young son, Trevor. Mostly he wrote his apologies for not returning home from the lab and explained what had happened to him. He hoped that they would understand if the unthinkable happened. With all his love he signed it, "Greg" and placed the lengthy letter in an envelope addressed to his house in London.

He placed the letter on his dresser secured by the lamp before flopping down on the uncomfortable cot. His mind and body were exhausted, but he couldn't sleep. For the first time in his life he questioned his own career path. He tried to convince himself that this would be saving lives, but he was leery about the Parliament's intentions for his many talents. What's worse is, he doesn't know if he could handle being single-handedly responsible for mass murder. It was a thought that weighed heavily on his conscience.

Movement in the underground facility nearly came to a stop sometime in the wee hours of the morning. Even the silence wasn't enough to put Greg's conscience. Nothing short of returning home would have been enough to settle Greg's emotions. Nonetheless, he did manage to find sleep. The moral issues on his brain pushed aside, his eyes drifted shut, and the world feel into a stagnated peace within his bittersweet dreams.

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To Be Continued...

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Please be kind, leave feedback Good/Bad/advice.

(A/N) I am currently in the market for a Beta. if you read this like my style and think you would like the job. Please feel free to contact me.


	2. A Platoon of Scientists

**Angel**  
By: EvelMyst

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Chapter Two: A Platoon of Scientists

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**_(July 16, 1915)_**

Once again, Greg had over slept the call for morning formations. He never understood why their commanding officer was so keen on maintaining a formally run military post. It never made much sense as Greg saw it. The entire facility was filled with either wounded soldiers or brainy scientists with much better things to do than to go running down the narrow corridors of the underground laboratory.

Not really wanting to go, Greg quickly pulled on his uniform, untidily made his bed leaving his pajamas sloppily folded on the footlocker. One quick look around Greg was satisfied that he had made his room presentable he left to go find the rest of his platoon of scientists.

He drug his heels as he checked each level, not too thoroughly though as he really hoped to miss morning drills. Greg really didn't think that Colonel Freemont would bring his scientific platoon into the mess hall for drills, but he figured as long as he was there he would check.

The mess hall was Greg's favorite room. Not only was there food, but people. Against the popular opinion amongst the scientists, Greg really did love people. He thrived off the attention he received, and that in turn encouraged him to keep working on his experiments.

He once treated scientists the same as any other person, but he found they lacked respect for him dubbing him childish and attention seeking. Talking to them was also exceptionally difficult for Greg. If they weren't envious of his brilliance, then they were trying to swindle him into divulging sensitive information which they could then pass on as their own.

After the third occurrence of losing all his hard work, Greg decided it was best to hold his tongue and keep his thoughts to himself amongst his fellow scientists.

The mess hall was a large room filled with long tables and benches. Usually, there was always someone in the room, with a tray of food or a cup of coffee in front of them. Normally, the people there were the patients of the infirmary who are well enough to venture out of their rooms.

Today, there weren't many people there, but he did see Helen sitting at the second table. She was a nurse at the infirmary. All the men loved her and frequently made crude sexual comments to her, which she always replied with a giggle.

"Ah, Dr. Sanders, overslept again I see." Helen slid the extra cup of coffee over towards her young comrade.

"You know me," Greg replied nonchalant about the whole thing.

"The colonel wasn't pleased about your absence."

"No, I don't suppose he would be too thrilled about that," stated Greg quickly taking a swig of the hot black liquid. "I suppose I should find out where they've gotten to."

"S'pose you should." Helen looked away to the wall where a window should be. If things were different Greg might've actually been able to give her what she desired. Everyone in the company knew that Helen fancied him. It was evident from the moment Greg set foot in the underground facility.

"I'm really sorry," Greg said softly, laying his hand over her shoulder. He really wasn't sorry because he loved his wife and his son more than anything.

"No you're not." Helen answered. "Your platoon of scientists is probably waiting for you. Last time I saw them they were on the fourth level. Colonel Freemont is working them over pretty good. You best get going if you want to catch up with them."

Helen turned on her heel and left the mess hall without another word. She was stunningly beautiful and could have any man she wanted. That is why Greg couldn't understand why she was so infatuated with him.

Just as Helen indicated his platoon was on the fourth level lined up just how he expected, dripping with sweat panting hard as he strutted up to them proud to have missed this morning's drill. The guys looked at Greg with an annoyed gleam. The youngest scientist didn't let it get to him as he continued to confidently walk past them to his post at the end of the line.

"Well, well, well, decided to join us after all, I see Dr. Sanders." Colonel Freemont stated loudly. The other's got a small laugh, but it didn't have the affect he desired.

"Thought I might," Greg quipped.

"Well, as I was saying, the highest ranking British official is coming here to check our progress on our chemical weapons. I trust that you all have been working hard."

"Some of us have," muttered Conway between his clinched teeth. Peter Conway had never been fond of Greg and frequently took it upon himself to make his life difficult.

"I'm sure Dr. Sanders has come up with something." Colonel Freemont stated.

It was common knowledge amongst his platoon that Greg preferred to work alone. He didn't like to converse with scientists, least of all with scientific discoveries. When he does, they often times end up arguing about the best method of achieving the desired results. Something that Greg has no time for.

The unit quieted after that as Colonel Freemont paced in front of them yammering on and on about how important it will be to make this place spic and span. Greg didn't see much point in that either. No matter what they did to the place, it was still going to have the same dark dreary walls, nearly unbearable humidity, and some strange clanking noise that no one knew the origin of. The place was definitely a pigsty nobody could question that.

Then, he stopped right in front of Greg and just looked at him for a moment. "Greg, where the hell are your shoes?" he asked bluntly and without blinking.

"Huh?" Greg replied stupidly before looking down at his stocking-covered feet. "Oh," he blushed and made some sad attempt to hide his feet.

"Yes, oh… well, I'm waiting…" he tapped his foot.

"I must've left them… sir," Greg answered casually. "I'll try to remember them next time that I'm late."

"You do that, and there won't be any more of this next time that you're late. You're expected to be on time Dr. Sanders just like the rest of your unit who all managed to. Next time you're late it'll be the brig for you."

Threats from Colonel Freemont were nothing new to Greg. The man makes a point to threaten Greg at least three times a day for his childish behavior and insubordination. To this day, Greg has neither changed his ways or has spent any time pealing potatoes, scrubbing the bathrooms, or spent a single minute in the brig.

"Aside from Dr. Sanders' lack of boots…" he continued exactly where he left off boring everyone into tears. Meanwhile, every man standing in line attempted at least once to get a peak at Greg's feet. Not like they had anything better to look at.

Once the colonel finally ran out of things to say to his men, he decided he best let them go get some breakfast and clean their areas up. Greg had no intention of cleaning his station up. He liked it just the way it was thank you very much. Besides with it all tidy-like Greg had a hard time finding his way around.

By this time, the mess hall was crowded and the line for the food stretched out the door. If only Colonel Freemont hadn't kept them so long they might have been seated by now eating some substance they like to call food. However, Greg could tell you that it wasn't as much food as a powdered substance injected with bits of nutrients humans needed to survive. No matter what it still tasted like wet yellow card board.

"Henry, anything good?" the man behind Greg shouted to his doctor buddy who was carrying a tray of hot food.

"Nah, same ole, same ole, nothing to get excited about," the man answered.

"They always give us junk," sighed the man.

When Greg found himself at the front of the line it was just how Henry said it was… junk. Greg sighed as the attendant piled the powdered eggs onto his metal tray and sent him on his way. He found the pile of toast and managed to sift through all the greenish ones to find some of the good pieces towards the bottom. This was another reason why Greg disliked Colonel Freemont. His desire to run the scientists like a proper military unit had meant they frequently entered the grub line towards the end and were left with nothing more than the stale scraps no one else wanted.

"Mind if I join you?" Helen beamed down upon him.

"Have I ever?" Greg smiled and scooted over to allow her a place on the bench.

"Sorry about earlier."

"Don't worry about it, it's done with." Greg assured her.

"Still, I shouldn't have acted so badly. Anyways, I went to the Post Office before I came here. I've been expecting a letter from my cousin for quite some time. Mum told me she'd write. Anyways, they told me to tell you that you've received a letter the other day and something about you not being reachable… I told them I'd pass on the message."

"Thank you," his eyes lit up with excitement. Eagerly, he jumped from his seat flinging food all over the lengthy table and left the room exclaiming his apologies for the mess.

His heart pounded eagerly as he ran up the stairs seven levels until he found himself at the window billowing for breath. "I hear you have a package for Dr. Greg Sanders." Greg stated airily.

"It's about time you showed up. We've been trying to deliver this to you for ages." Said the postal worker handing Greg the large brown package.

He got it to his room four levels lower than the Post office and sat on his bunk. It was the package he had been waiting for. He cut the cord and tore apart the brown paper wrapping, removed the lid and took the envelope that contained his letters out.

The first letter was nothing more than a smear of colors. Greg smiled at Trevor's scribbled name that he obviously did with Emma's help. He placed the letter on his nightstand before getting to Emma's.

_

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_

_It has been so long since I've held you in my arms and I can't wait until you return. _

_You wouldn't believe how much Trevor has grown. He is twice as tall as he was when you left. Oh, he has the most beautiful brown eyes. All I can do is look at him and all I see is you. He will grow into a fine young man I just know it. The other day, Beth and I were talking about him and we think he's got science in his blood. He's curious about everything. While we were talking, Trevor managed to steal the broken clock from your work bench and managed to break it all into pieces. I think he was just curious, but maybe he'll learn how to put them back together again. We can only hope._

_He did the most amazing thing yesterday. Beth was over helping me with the garden and Trevor was playing with his red rubber ball we gave him for his first birthday. Anyways, the ball escaped him and he just got up walked over to it and took it back into his arms. I wish you could have been there to see his first steps. Ever since then he's been walking everywhere. Of course he does take a few tumbles, but he's quite a little walker. _

_The Prime Minister has been in an uproar recently. He's paranoid and I don't blame him with the state of things. He has ordered an evacuation of London. I have arranged for us to stay at Papa Olaf and Nana's place up in Norway until this clears up. I have brought as much as I could, and arranged for John Williamson from Bristol to take the rest as soon as he is able. _

_I thought you would like these items. I know they're no substitute for home, but they will just have to do. I hope you like them. I'm sorry to cut this letter so short, but I do not have much time. I wish I could have you back in my arms right this minute, but this will just have to do. Stay save, and do your job. I know how much you hate it._

_With all my love,_

* * *

He placed the picture next to Trevor's artwork and placed the quilt on his bed. It was a bright quilt filled with colors and it certainly made his room look a little more like home.

At the bottom of the box, Greg found a tin filled with his favorite cookies. He sat there for a moment, thinking about his family, temporarily pleased that they were not with him to see him in these dreadful conditions.

He stole a cookie from the tin and quickly hid them in his footlocker. It wasn't against policy to keep baked goods in his room, but he preferred his wife's cooking to remain his dirty little secret.

Since he was there in his room, he took a look around for his boots and found them carelessly thrown under his cot. He was just about to pull them on when Colonel Freemont walked in with a stern expression on his face.

"Is there some reason why you are not down in your laboratory like the other lab rats?" Barked Freemont.

"I had to find my shoes, sir," Greg replied sliding on his boots. "I was just leaving." He stood from his bunk and walked past his commanding officer.

"I expect your laboratory station cleaned and presentable by the time the general arrives. Or it will be hell to pay for it."

"Understood," Greg stated and walked away. He wasn't really going to clean his lab. He never had any intention of making it presentable. If he left it as it was, he wouldn't need to waste time searching for things that were placed in their proper area.

The laboratories were located on the first level and Greg's was on the last one to the right. He unlocked the door and stepped inside and closed it quickly behind him to prevent the colonel who had been following Greg closely from entering.

Once again, Greg was faced with his moral dilemma. In front of him sat three beakers each filled with a volatile liquid capable off killing several men from a distance. He stood there silently and pondered the possible ramifications of giving the general these kinds of weapons. Sure he had several things to give the man outside of the contents off these three beakers, but none of them would be so efficient.

If he gave this weapon to the General, it would kill thousands of enemy troops. Greg just wasn't certain he could live with that knowledge. What was worse, the German troops killed from his masterpiece would not be the Germans responsible for this conflict. He tried not to think about the troops as innocent bystanders in a king's war, but there were moments he was unable to prevent such pointless thoughts.

Leaned over the table he thought about it for great lengths of time. Certainly, he could give them the contents of the vials and they could produce a weapon as strong as nothing the world has ever seen before. Worse yet, these chemical compounds could be responsible for mass deaths on their side. Greg couldn't account for all the variables in the trenches and these chemicals had to be kept completely sealed until the time of their use. With no antidote possible, the risks seemed too high to subject the British troops to such a violent death.

**_

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(July 19, 1915)_**

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The General was due to arrive on the nineteenth of July. By that point of time the whole underground facility had been decorated with paper banners welcoming him to the place. The entire place had been cleaned up. Well, with one notable exception. Greg Sanders' lab was still a horrific mess.

It was a half past three and Greg stood in the cluttered lab still looking at the three beakers placed on the worktable. Once again he pondered whether or not he should give the General these volatile chemicals. They certainly could greatly tilt the balance into their favor, but at what price? They were chemicals that required absolute caution when handling and Greg wasn't certain if the trench men could treat them with the caution they deserve.

At nearly o-seven hundred, his door flung open, Colonel Freemont stood there, getting angrier by the second at seeing Greg's horribly messy lab.

"I thought I told you to clean this place up," growled Colonel Freemont. Greg simply stood unmoving and waited until the General entered.

"Well… I'm waiting."

"If you are waiting for an explanation to why I disobeyed a direct order is that the General will be here one afternoon. I have to be here every afternoon and I hate losing stuff," answered Greg smartly.

"Your cheek boy is not going to make matters better for you."

General Hammen stepped in and was aghast at the state of things. There in the middle, wearing his uniform all skewed was Greg who seemed to represent the embodiment of insubordination to the highest extent.

It was fair to say that Greg and the General immediately hit things off rather badly. Greg's style was much to be desired as far as General Hammen was concerned. To the general, Greg represented everything he hated in a fine officer.

For that reason alone, nothing he handed the general it was good enough to really impress him. In his eyes Greg was nothing more than a brat kid who got where he was by sheer luck alone.

Then, things only got worse when he got to the three that Greg was not ready to hand over. The two of them got into a bitter argument. It got so bad that before it was over Colonel Freemont was apologizing profusely to the general saying that Greg was just a stupid civilian and doesn't know anything about nothing. A statement, General Hammen eagerly agreed to.

What did Greg care? He didn't care how the army fought wars it was his job to create the weapons for them to use. But he kept asking himself if the dangerous substances would have been manageable in a trench. It was a thought that kept going over and over in his head. Was he wrong? Were their men capable of keeping it properly sealed off? Greg certainly hoped he was.

All through their lunch period, Greg sat alone thinking about what the General said. He must have been really out of it, because some time later Helen attempted to break him of his thoughts, but he only got up and moved away without saying a word. She wasn't the only one to notice how Greg had isolated himself. He was after all one of the few civilians on the site and for the most part he was treated as an equal to them, but perhaps he is lacking of knowledge of proper warfare. He's never seen battle, never even comprehended one.

When Greg finally arrived for dinner the whole mess hall muttered softly to their comrades in arms. He knew instantly it was about him. There wasn't a person in the place who wasn't aware of his argument with General Hammen. It was also common knowledge that he was indeed a civilian and not proper military. A fact Colonel Freemont states frequently why Greg is not in the brig for insubordination.

He ate alone, not willing to confront anyone yet. Helen was still annoyed at him and decided to eat with her nursing friend Anna down the table talking animatedly with her. There sat Greg, with a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. His mind was still reeling from the day's events.

It wasn't until two patients walked by that Greg's mind was finally made up. He was going to the front lines. No longer could any General of the British Army accuse him of not understanding the needs of the trench men. Determined, he got up from the table, and walked out of the mess. Without looking back, Greg walked up to his third-level room, took out a small bag and filled it with a few essential things. One last look around to make sure everything was indeed in order and he left for the infirmary on the upper levels of the facility.

He walked right up to the receptionist and requested Private Jensen's personal belongings with the word that he was asked to send them home to his waiting widow. Not having a reason to doubt Greg's honesty she gathered Jensen's uniform and handed it to Greg along with his rifle and a small mud-covered and torn photograph of his wife.

"I hope they appreciate this," she replied sweetly and left Greg to his business.

"I'm sure they will," Greg answered and walked out without another word.

Quickly, he ducked out of the way and pulled on the wool uniform. It fit well, Helen was right, Private Jensen was just about the same size as he. Pulling the rifle over his shoulder, he walked out without as much as a second look. Their best scientist had left to join the war to end all wars.

* * *

**_(July 21, 1915)_**

* * *

It wasn't hard for Greg to catch transport to the trenches. Nearly any supply truck was also carrying troops back to the front. Greg simply hopped on one and went wherever the men did. He had no particular destination other than the front line, so he mostly stayed to himself, though the other soldiers tried to engage him in conversation.

They talked about how long they've been there, where their home is and reading letters aloud to each other.

"What about you, Jensen?" one piped up in yet another attempt to engage him in some conversation. "Do you have any family?"

"A wife and a son," Greg answered automatically.

Provided with a temporary victory, they pressed harder, but Greg remained silent through it all. It wasn't important where he was going or why, who his company was. Greg wasn't inclined to give them much more information than that. Frankly, he thought it none of their business and politely refrained from answering questions that he felt delved too closely to the truth of the matter. There is no Private Jensen, only Greg Sanders Ph.D. in sciences who walked off his post a few days ago.

The supply truck dropped them off at a camouflaged encampment and there he let the troops off as well. Greg took his gun by his side and walked eagerly behind the men.

"Private Jensen?"

"Aye," Greg responded now better than he had the first time he was called this unusual name.

"Headed for the front trenches are ya?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"You'll want to follow them," the man pointed to a bunch of weary dirt-covered soldiers marching slowly in the easterly direction.

"Thanks," he flung his pack over his back and joined the weary men.

It felt as though they were marching forever down the dirt road. Every now and then a transport will drive by which meant each of the men had to get off the road and turn their backs to the passing truck. Greg never asked why this was so, he just followed suite with the rest of the men.

They were almost starkly silent. No one said much of anything. No one looked away for more than a few seconds from the double-file line. One person down the row of people was humming lightly to himself, an old nursery rhyme by the sounds of it, but other than that there was no other sound other than the soft patter of the leather-soled boots.

Greg did look around the countryside. It was beautiful, long rolling hills covered in knee-high grasses periodically broken up by clusters of trees. It was beautiful. They marched and marched until day faded into dusk and the sun set behind the splotched clouds above.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Greg had wanted to stop and rest, but the company made no attempt to slow down and in turn, Greg continued on his weary legs. They arrived sometime in the middle of the night when they broke into two groups, one of the groups continued down a narrow wooden staircase between the hollowed out walls of the trench.

The smell was one that Greg would forget about as much as he would forget the day he was brought over to the country. The air was fouled by the decomposition of rotting bodies that lingered on the trench floor. Death could be felt all around, even in the tired faces of the men who stood at the walls. The same walls that Greg took position at once he checked in at the commanding officer.

He welcomed Greg back and he found his way to a small hallowed out hole behind the trench walls where he found his bunk and a small footlocker with his name painted on the top.

The night was calm and quiet, almost too quiet. Each person appeared apprehensive about what is to come. It was a cool night for July. The men lined the wall, each covered in about three layers of dirt and grime. Some of the men were constantly scratching, sometimes until they bled they scratched so hard. Several guys appeared pale and sick with something Greg was told was Trench Fever. He was told it was the least of his worries so not to be concerned with that. It was what awaited them in the morning that would be his greatest worry.

Little sleep was found on the trench walls. Everyone stood hunched down careful not to expose their heads. Several guys periodically peaked over the edge towards the enemy. As dawn approached the men grew more restless. There was a fear on the front line that Greg had never known before. This fear mixed with their determination seemed to bond these men together in ways Greg had never seen before.

The most vibrant reds, purples, and pinks filled the morning sky. The murky fog cleared over the French grasslands to reveal the devices of war. Greg took his first chance and peered over the ledge into the area they called, 'no man's land' and saw barbed wire garrisons blocking the way.

"You'll want to put your head back down," said a lonely soldier leaned up against the walls of the trench and the butt of his rifle. The man appeared to be weather-worn, moth eaten and covered in filth. He'd been there for a while by the looks of his tired eyes. "Private Jensen, is it? I heard some of the men say you were back. I don't believe it though," he stated and pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

Smoke swirled around his head as he exhaled the tobacco fumes. His blue eyes gazed at Greg's with skepticism as though he could see him for what he truly was.

"Oh," Greg uttered and sat back down into the trench wall.

"I don't care who you are, or why you're in Jensen's uniform, but don't you go around pretending to be him, because you're not. I was there when he was shot. There's no way he could've survived the wounds he sustained. And you'll do best if you follow my command."

"Sir," Greg replied quickly.

"You ever use that weapon sir?"

Greg's brown eyes glanced at the riffle leaning against the wall next to him. "No, sir," he replied earnestly. "I'm a… a scientist I've never…"

"Certainly are a long way from where you belong, aren't ya?" The soldier pushed off the wall and approached Greg. "Lemme give ya uh crash course, then. You place the butt of the gun, here" he placed the gun nearly in Greg's armpit. "Ya unlock the safety, ya peer through the site, when you're target is in line you pull the trigger. You'll want to watch for tha' kick back. Kick ya like a mule it will. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Oh, and one more thing, keep it cleaned will ya, the last thing you need is you to be carrying a useless weapon."

"Right." Greg nodded and watched as the man walked off down the trench.

The tension seemed to grow as the day continued onward. Images of weary-faced soldiers wearing steel helmets were forever burned in Greg's memory. Things here were certainly much different than Greg expected and the battle hasn't even really begun. Everyone seemed ready for it as Greg walked down the trench passing one weary man after another. Each appeared ready for a battle that hadn't yet begun.

Then from nowhere gunfire erupted. The place scrambled to the wall and shot back as quick as they could. Greg too, lined the shelf lying on his stomach firing his weapon as best he could. His shot wasn't much help though as his bullets strayed severely off course. The endless pops of gunfire was deafening and it continued for what seemed like forever.

Men cried out in agony when they were shot, quickly falling off the line to be replaced for another. Then the Commanding Officer shouted an order Greg had never heard before. From the looks of the soldier's faces it was clear they had. Each of them sobered up quickly and a group of men mounted to go over the wall. All at once, they ran over no man's land only to be shot down like sitting ducks. The sight was horrific and one Greg couldn't believe he was seeing. All those men were now piles of flesh on the French ground.

Now, he finally understood where General Hammen was coming from. Now he realized why the weapons he was making was so important to this war effort. Another wave of heavy gunfire erupted and another group breached the wall. They shot like crazy men clearing the way for them to get to the other side. A few made it and a scuffle and screams could be heard from their ranks. No one knew what fate they faced. More men ran over and still more.

"Jensen," Greg's adopted name was yelled and he knew what to do. He picked up his riffle and he ran over there as fast as he could. Bullets flew by his ear and a few more nipped at his clothes. Then, out of nowhere a bullet struck him hard in the thigh, burning him. He wasn't about to slow down because of an incidental flesh wound. The other's didn't and Greg wasn't about to let them down.

Finally, he made it to the other side's trench. He fought, like a mad man shooting people, beating them up with the butt of his gun. The only thing keeping him going was fear. If he stopped he'd surely die, and so he kept fighting. He kept fighting until his comrades in arms shouted out their victory to the sky.

Wounded and exhausted, Greg collapsed on their trench walls seeing all the men from earlier all over again, now lying dead on the ground.

"Are you all right, private?"

Greg peered down at his bleeding leg. "Yeah, it's just a scratch." The bullet had just nicked his thigh, just barely enough to need stitches, but not enough to kill him. "Guess I should've been faster."

Things were settling down, when the sounds of duel plane engines grew louder. The closer they came the more concerned the soldier's became.

"Is that coming from the East or from the West?" one asked.

"The East, by the sounds of it," another answered. This wasn't the news he wanted to hear.

Sure enough, the planes were coming from the east. In the distance a large explosion erupted causing several of the men to jump in terror. Men scrambled everywhere once the commanding officer screamed, "AIR RAIDE!"

Everyone was trying to get into the barracks. Fear remained the prominent emotion among the troops as they scrambled for shelter. The explosions grew closer, and Greg was truly afraid for the first time in his life. Somewhere in the back of his head, he always considered saturation bombing to mean something different from what it really meant.

Bombs hit the ground in short intervals and grew louder by the second. They were approaching. The barracks were filled. Men still lined the walls, crouched down with their fingers plugging their ears. There was no escaping it the inevitable. Bombs landed over the trench blowing people to smithereens. One landed just over the wall from where Greg was crouched, with his own fingers in his ears. It surprised Greg that it didn't explode upon impact but a few moments later. The fiery explosion was massive. Greg stayed hunched over, his eyes closed tight as the sonic blast swept over him like a speeding train tearing his helmet off his head. Shrapnel sprayed the area leaving several soldiers riddled with wounds and Greg unconscious having taken a piece to the head.

* * *

To Be Continued...

Thank you to Shizmoo for replying I really appreciate it.

A/N: If you don't care enough to reply, why should I care about a timely update? Please be kind, and reply.


	3. Death's Grave Mistake

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A/N: I give feed back to about 90 of the stories I read and usually positive at that. I would appreciate the same courtesy that I give in return. However, you must do as you see fit... If I am unworthy then I guess I'm unworthy... I do tend to update stories faster when I get feedback. It lets me know that you are interested and care enuogh about the story to want to continue reading (Generally). If you don't leave feed back I tend to assume you don't care and then why should I care about posting the next chapter within a timely manner. 

On that note I want to thank Shizmoo who has left me feedback. :-)

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the names or likenesses of any Character based on CBS's hit television drama, Criminal Scene Investigation.

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**Chapter Three:** Death's Grave Mistake

* * *

For a brief moment, Greg thought he had been transported away from that horrible place. That perhaps his prayers had been answered and he was far away from the horrible war. Then, he got a closer look around his odd surroundings to find he was still standing in the grassy hills of the French countryside. It was odd though, how the place seemed void of sound and life.

By the time Greg was certain of his solitude, he managed to gaze down upon a ghost-like body, lying hunched over in the ditch. The ghostly man was riddled in wounds where shrapnel appeared to strike him. It must have been quite a blow from how many lesions the man had.

An echoed shout called from a distance and another ghostly man ran towards the wounded soldier. His hands were gentle as they felt for the slightest pulse and appeared pleased to found one. Immediately, he started dressing the wounds that covered the man's body. Greg stood there and watched as the medic wrapped bandage after bandage on the wounded soldier. Once he was finished with his exposed side, the medic slowly rolled the man over.

Greg gasped at the site of the young man. It wasn't because of the massive head wound bleeding unto the ground. No, it was the fact that the ghostly man at his feet was… Did he dare say it? Did he dare think it? It doesn't seem like there was much of a point to denying the identity of the man. It was none other than him.

The world stopped at the sight of his wounded body lying lifeless in front of him. No, it wasn't lifeless. He was just unconscious, wasn't he? They wouldn't be treating his wounds if he were dead.

With open eyes wide-open he looked around the place again to find there were several other's like him standing around looking just as lost as he felt. Were they dead? Was this death? Greg didn't think so, because there were several men working on him lifting his still-living body up on a gurney and carrying it off. That's what he wanted to believe at least.

The men in the distance started walking down the same path that took them to this horrible place. They marched and all Greg could do was watch as they walked by him one by one.

A man stood next to him for a moment watching the men walking silently past him. "Everything will be all right," a voice commented to him calmly. The man was tall, with long black hair resting against his creamy pale face. The man wore a floor-length black cloak that fit him well, and there was no need to ask who he was.

"Is this how it ends?" Greg choked out uncertain he was ready to make this journey.

"No," Death answered. "This is merely the beginning."

"It just seemed so short. Life I mean."

"Come, it's time to move on from the realm of the living and transition into the realm of the dead. It is time."

"And if I refuse?" asked Greg politely.

"The gates of death will always be waiting for you. If you are content on being connected to the life you have left behind you are free to wander the tween until such time you wish to pass through the gates of death."

Could it be true? Was Greg really dead? He didn't think he was. The ghostly medics seemed to believe he was alive or at least savable. They wouldn't try if it was hopeless. He stood there still quite confused by the whole situation. The whole thing made him feel horribly uneasy.

While, he didn't want to walk around this ghostly plain, he certainly didn't want to think he was dead. After all the medics were working on him, he was certain the guy felt a pulse.

"So what say you?" Death asked, still standing by his right-hand side.

"I'll come," Greg sighed.

Greg walked side by side with Death. With every step he took down that dirt road the more he was sure that there was some mistake. The knot inside his stomach seemed to grow. It was nearly as though he had some place to be. Somewhere to go and it wasn't the direction he was headed.

A flash of vibrant white light crossed his vision and he stopped.

"What's the matter?" asked Death growing slightly more impatient with the young man.

"Are you sure that I'm really… dead?" Greg gulped. He's never been dead before and he really hoped not to be for quite some time. "It's just that I can hear these voices calling to me, flashes of light pass over my eyes. I don't think I should be here."

Questioning the man standing beside him seemed dangerous in the present company, but Greg grew continuously certain that he was not meant to be there.

"Quite sure," answered Death.

For what seemed like days they walked the dusty paths of the ghostly plain. Each day, Greg continued to question whether he should be there or not, if he was really going to the right place. Death tried to soothe his uncertainties about the Deathly Realm and his new existence, but it did little to stifle the feelings of dread that constantly washed over him.

Along the way, other weary soldiers joined them in their long march. There was little chatter amongst the men, because nothing needed to be said.

A battle was going on in the Living Realm, Greg could see the ghostly men fighting with all their might, and another soldier joined them. Nothing seemed to matter anymore, nothing more than walking this road to the unseen destination.

The group of soldiers walked steadily until an ancient wooden door appeared out of the earth.

"It is time," Death assured young Greg.

"It is," Greg agreed. For a while now, he felt at ease. No longer was he feeling torn between two existences. No longer could he see the flashes of the white light or hear the voices calling to him.

One by one the men walked through the old door into the next plain of existence. Slowly, Greg walked through the door, as the soldiers before him. Death remained by his side as they walked through the door.

The world on the other side surprised Greg. He had expected it to be white and peaceful, but it wasn't that at all. Instead he found himself alone in the ruins of a fallen fortress standing alone. Where the others had gone, Greg did not know. He recognized the place though. He visited it as a young lad the day his father died. He had fallen deathly ill a few days before and there was nothing the doctor's could do.

That also happened to be the day that he decided that he would not rest until he found a cure for these horrible illnesses. And thus the rest of his life was devoted to the study of medicine.

"You remember this place." Death asked from behind him.

"How'd you get here?"

"I am Death, I am everywhere." He stated. "This is the place where your most pivotal moment occurred. I bring people to these moments because they find it empowering and seems to put them more at ease. I am surprised to see yours happened so young. I believe you were three. Are you ready to proceed?"

"I am." Greg answered confidently. He followed Death through the doorway he came through and found a white misty room with a golden stairway ascending the level ground.

He walked slowly behind the black-haired man. He was just about to take the stairs when out of the corner of his eye he noticed a rather irate woman marching towards them holding a scepter to the sky.

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE BOY!" Shouted a lady shaking her golden scepter into the air violently.

"What do you want?" Death uttered crossly. "What reason do you have for meddling in my business, Destiny?"

"Meddling? i _Who's /i _meddling? I step away for one moment and the entire fabric of time and destiny has been unraveled and I think YOU know why." Destiny glared at Death with a gaze that could kill him. That was of course if he hadn't already been immortal. Meanwhile, Greg just stood there and watched the exchange between the two divinities.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Now, stand out of my way as I escort this soul to the There After."

"You will do nothing of the sorts. This is the soul of Dr. Gregory Hojem Sanders, and according to my record he should still be ALIVE." She punctuated each syllable with a jab of her scepter against Death's chest.

"Dr. Gregory Hojem Sanders," he read down his list filled with names. Greg tried to gaze over to see what it said, but Death held it too close to his face for him to get any real information from it. "Gregory… Gregory… Gregory…" he muttered as he continued to read down the long scroll in his hand. "Ah, there we are, Gregory Howard Sanders." Death's eyes immediately bulged out of his face and got real wide-like.

"You're middle name's not Howard is it?" Greg shook his head no. "I…"

"You brought in the wrong soul." Destiny was obviously infuriated with death. She stood there with her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her eyes were stern as she stood there waiting for Death to make his next move.

"He was… He was in the Ghostly Plain. He was standing there, his body wounded he appeared to the proper age and had a similar name." Death tried to defend his mistake.

"You know as well as I do that even those who have been knocked out of consciousness can sometimes find their way into the Ghostly Plain. Now, return this man to his body before it's too late to save the integrity of time and destiny." She turned on her heel and marched off without looking back.

"Yes, ma'am," Death nodded and proceeded to take Greg back into the 'Tween. They moved swiftly though the land of the dead until they walked back through the arched door that took them back to the Ghostly Plain. "Quickly, we haven't got a moment to spare," Death urged Greg on.

"Your body should be just here," Death pushed through a set of double metal doors to find a room filled with corpses.

Greg stood still not believing what he saw. From how Destiny spoke, Greg figured he was still alive. He had no idea that he was really dead.

"Death… I'm… dead." Greg slowly said as he pulled back the white sheet covering his lifeless body. Death stood there mortified. His eyes got real wide as panic started to take over. What had he done?

He knew that if Greg's soul got too far away from his still-living body he could die. But he didn't think he was still alive. How could he forget that even the unconscious sometimes found their way into the Ghostly Plains? They warned him on his first day on the job about how some souls enter the Ghostly Plain without dying and the dangers of removing them from their still living bodies. Oh, how could he have forgotten. What's worse, he might have done irreparable damage to the timeline.

"Oh dear," muttered Death uncertain about what to do next. "This definitely complicates matters. And believe me they're more than complicated enough without this one."

"What do you mean?" Greg asked cautiously. "How can things get more complicated? I'm dead."

"Well, that's the thing. You're not supposed to i BE /i dead. I made a mistake, I took you away from your body, and now… now the whole integrity of time is unraveling. Judging by Destiny's fury I'd say your destiny was pretty big. She normally is full of just hot air when things like this happen. This time was different. This time, she really meant business."

The mood was solemn inside the room. Greg stood there next to his dead body and observed it intensely thinking about everything that never was. His little boy, Trevor and how he'd never be there for him growing up. He wouldn't have someone to guide him through the world and teach him about the laws of Sir Isaac Newton.

Meanwhile, Death paced about the room, his head in his hands muttering something to himself. Back and forth he walked hastily deep in thought about their predicament. "I have no choice," he muttered slightly more audible than the rest of his mutterings. Greg didn't know what they meant or what they could do about the situation. It wasn't like he had much of a choice. He couldn't live and according to Destiny he couldn't die without their being severe repercussions. It was quite the conundrum.

Then, as fast as they got into this dilemma, Death had figured out the answer. "Come with me," demanded Death. With no place else to go, Greg followed silently.

They traveled a short distance to another doorway and walked through it. "Fortress," Death stated clearly and walked through the door, quickly followed by the newly deceased scientist.

When they emerged from the entryway, Greg was amazed to be standing across a moat to a massive fortress. It was a tall unyielding building, built from a dark marble-like stone. Perhaps it was granite, Greg couldn't tell. They approached the black gates of the massive fortress and the drawbridge lowered across the moat that surrounded the place.

"You will stay here until arrangements can be made. I'm certain you are tired. It has been a long day. Feel free to take any room you desire. One more thing, your physical appearance in this realm is determined by your mental image of yourself, so you might want to have fun with different appearances."

"Do you think I'm ugly?" Greg asked nearly offended.

"No, of course not," answered Death quickly. "I was merely stating a fact of this realm." Death turned on his heel and walked away leaving Greg on his own.

The fortress wasn't massive, it was gigantean. The halls seemed to go on and on forever. Every direction he looked there was another hall, another staircase, and more doors. He opened a few here and there, deciding he didn't like the rooms for one reason or another.

He decided to be picky about which room he chose, seeing how he was uncertain about how long he'd be staying at this massive place. The halls seemed to dart off in every which direction and Greg eagerly followed them looking for the perfect room. The hall twisted counter-clockwise up a narrow staircase and they seemed to go on and on and on without end until he reached the top. There he found a circular room with a bed in the middle surrounded by windows.

The room was ill-kept. The curtains around the open windows were moth-eaten. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling slowly blowing in the breeze, leafs scattered around the floor, and the bed was unmade. The place was certainly a mess. To Greg, the room was perfect.

Immediately, he started cleaning it all up, making it all homey. He did find the closet particularly useful. Whatever he needed it appeared to be inside. Greg recalled when he could use some new curtains. He was certain the closet did not hold spare curtains, and made a mental note to ask Death where he could find some more. Then, he opened the closet door and there sat brand new curtains neatly folded.

It must have been possible by witchcraft alone that there were new curtains inside that closet. Greg saw no other way the curtains could have spontaneously appeared in the closet.

The room was cleaned up in a small amount of time, and this left Greg alone to his thoughts. For a brief second he thought about what Death said, and decided that he did have a point. He might want to consider playing around with his physical appearance.

Turning around, he was surprised to find a full length mirror at his disposal. At first he wanted to question it, but decided it would be best if he just accepted the oddities of this room and leave it at that. He gazed at himself and thought that it would be nice if he were a little bit taller. So he thought about it and before he knew it, he expanded two inches higher than he ordinarily stood. Then, he thought a blondish color would do his hair good, and made it so.

Again and again he changed his physical appearance until he was quite pleased with the person looking back at him. No longer did he look like the nerdy scientist, but someone who looked intelligent without looking as though that was all he was. It was also no coincidence, he did beef himself up a bit to.

Pleased with his appearance, he stood at the window and watched darkness descend over the Deathly Realm. It wasn't like the night he was used to. The night was darker, but the sky was colored with vibrant green, purple, blue, red, and yellow ribbons of light. Stranger yet, was that no stars could be seen through these wondrous streams of light.

He must've stood there for hours watching them pass. In the distance, there were storm clouds flashed with lightning. For a moment, Greg worried they were moving in, but they never seemed to get any closer than they already were.

"I see you've found a room," Death walked up to Greg's side. "Alas, the nightly lights of splendor. Many a man has gazed upon those wondrous lights and sat very content to watch them until all eternity was wasted by a single task. It is best that you not let yourself become entranced in their magnificence." Warned Death.

"They're beautiful, but what are they?"

"I'm not sure, they've always been here. They are magnificent aren't they?"

"Beautiful," answered Greg. "So, what's going to happen now? According to Destiny I can't die, and I can't return to my dead body."

"There's nothing we can do to bring you back to life. Perhaps there is another way. We will know ore when we know what your destiny said." Death paused briefly. "Look, you should try to get some rest. Tomorrow well see Destiny and figure out what can be done about this."

"Good night," said Greg softly to Death. He wasn't really ready to fall asleep. He just did not desire company at the present moment. A lot has happened in the last few days. He snuck away from the underground compound, went to the trenches got wounded, got carried away wrongly by Death, and on top of all that, he died.

These events were too fresh in Greg's mind to allow him any rest.

Death left him alone as he wished and Greg moved over to the soft bed. He plopped down on the soft feather mattress and gazed pointlessly at the ceiling.

Morning came abruptly, the sky lightened, but never as much as it did in the Realm of the Living. The sky was a deep, dusk blue by Greg's best guess. He pulled himself out of bed, and walked to that magical closet of is to find a whole new wardrobe of clothes for him to pick from.

This didn't seem so odd or amazing the second time around, but he still found it useful to have a closet that would give you anything you needed or wanted. He pulled on his new clothes, altered his face again, and started down the long spiral staircase down into the man fortress so he could star the long journey into the dinning room. Of course, he was aware that dead people don't need to eat, but he thought it would be a good place to be right after waking up.

Four hours of endless searching, Greg walked into the dining room to find Death drinking a cup of black coffee. The sight was odd to see Death drinking coffee, but Greg couldn't think why it should.

"Come, take a seat," Death kicked out a chair for his young guest. "Well, hurry up. We haven't got much time. With taking you to the House of Destiny, and of course, I do have my death duties to perform. Escorting souls you know. Coffee?"

Before Greg could answer, Death slid a new cup in front of him. "I'm sorry, I don't have creamer at the moment. Sugar?"

"I have a closet that will get you whatever you want or need, maybe we can get some up there?"

"True," chuckled Death. "That closet is quite useful. But I'm afraid in my youth, I requested one ounce too much in creamer and it threatened to eat me alive if I requested it again."

Looking down at the steaming mug of coffee, Greg wondered if he could drink it. Do dead people eat? Can they eat? He peered at Death who seemed to be doing fine drinking his steaming mug, but Death was a divinity. Greg was nothing more than a lost soul unable to live, unable to die.

"You can eat, you don't need to in order to survive here, but it gives a sense of normalcy in a strange place and time." Death appeared to have read Greg's thoughts. "I hear the taste is diminished from the sensations from the Realm of the Living, but I assure you it is still quite good."

Death was right, the coffee was exceptionally good, and Greg drank it up in no time at all. It was all still very confusing to Greg being dead and all. He was technically dead, but as Death pointed out to him that his soul has not moved on to the next plain of existence. This was something that seemed to please Death beyond anything else.

Breakfast ended in a timely manner, and Death promptly stood from the table and headed for the door with Greg following him out the door. It was a beautiful day the sun was low on the horizon, making the sky shimmer in a purplish glow. Uncertain what time it was, Greg pulled out his pocket watch only to see the hands spinning wildly out of control. 'Odd,' he thought as he snapped it shut and continued to follow Death.

"If you are wondering what time it is," Death seemed to again read Greg's thoughts. "It is precisely eleven in the morning. Your time keeper is useless in the Realm of the Dead. What good is time in a place where time is endless?"

"But, how do you know the time of day?"

"The position of the sun of course," answered Death quickly. "As you might've noticed, the sun doesn't like to shine brightly on those who are dead. It stays low in the sky. At its highest point in the sky, the time would be noon. When the sun is at its lowest point the hour is of course midnight. The sun never changes its pattern everyday it will sit exactly in the same spot according to the time of day it is."

It was all still very confusing to Greg who was struggling to keep up with Death's brisk pace. He did slow every now and then, allowing Greg to catch up, but for the most part the pace was kept exceedingly quick.

Along the way, Death pulled souls who were wandering the Ghostly Plain and disappeared for a brief moment before returning. It was his solemn duty after all and a duty he wasn't going to neglect for no reason. It didn't take Greg much time to realize this and accept it for what it was. He was not sad for the souls who passed into this realm, only for their families who have lost their sons, brothers, fathers, and friends.

"Don't you need to escort them through the Gates of Death?" Greg asked.

"Of course they need someone to escort them through the gates. It is my duty to see to it. But, as I have already told you, time does not constrain us in the Ream of the Dead. It is merely the living who will suffer time, for time is all they have. I could be gone for several days and to them it would appear only as a brief moment has passed." Death informed.

They kept walking through the Realm of the Dead and Greg wondered if there was a better way to travel. An automobile perhaps or he would take a horse, though he wasn't too fond of them. Not that Greg objected to walking. It was that he has walked so much over the past few days that he longed to sit still only for a moment. Unable to stop, he continued pushed through those longings and continued to follow Death step by step.

Finally, they made it to their destination: The House of Destiny. It looked different from how Greg imagined it. He had imagined a shanty house of sorts filled with odd herbs and swirls of smoke, but he couldn't see any. In fact, the house wasn't even a shanty house at all, but a magnificent light brown rock house. It was massive, with rooms sticking out everywhere and windows facing any direction a person could imagine. Death walked in without even so much as looking at it. Greg couldn't stop looking at it. The place took his breath away.

Inside, there were people dressed in Pearl, Ruby, or Emerald cloaks all with their hoods drawn over their faces leaving not but their chin and mouth's visible. Each seemed to be muttering in an odd clicking language. Greg recognized them at once as Destinies. They had similar appearances to the one who prevented Greg from passing through the Gates of Death.

"Typical Destinies," Death muttered. "Clicking about in that foul language of them. And to what? To call us intruders?" Death huffed. From then on, Death and Greg ignored the constant clicking destinies as they continued through the massive house. Though, every now and then Greg would see Death shudder at something one of them clicked, but he never said anything about it. All the while, Greg's eyes darted everywhere. There were so many things for him to see, and he wanted to see them all.

He was so busy looking around the place he didn't notice Death stop and plowed right into him. Death turned around and threatened to really kill him if he did it again and Greg backed off silently and focused on his feet.

Cautiously, Death knocked on the door and waited for the destiny he sought to open up.

"Ah, Death," she sounded quite pleased to see her. Death however, was less than thrilled at the possibility of another of her mood swings. "I was expecting you."

"Oh?" Death commented and walked in the room with Greg close by his side. "I'm sure you've realized by now that I was unsuccessful at returning Greg's soul to his body."

"I am aware," she stated calmly and with a certain amount of reservation. "Quite unfortunate for humanity. Quite unfortunate indeed."

She turned her eyes towards Greg and evaluated him for a moment analyzing him. "So much rests in his head and I wonder if he could fulfill his destiny through others."

"What… what do you mean?" Greg choked out. Thoughts raced through his head, as uncertainty set in. The way Destiny looked at him, seeing if he had the strength to take the next step. The whole experience was intimidating to him as he stood there being judged if he was strong enough to handle the next stage of his existence.

"We cannot kill you as you very well know. Your destiny is much too important for us to send you through the Gates of Death. Still, your destiny needs doing. That means you cannot stay here." She cleared her throat and stepped up to her seeing orb. She gazed in it thoughtfully and hummed to herself. Apparently the answer to her riddle has been answered.

"The only option that leaves us is to send you to the Realm of the Living." She stepped away from the orb. "But there are problems with this as well. Without a body you would appear a ghost to those who live. You wouldn't be able to touch anything and you would be dependant on possession in order to fulfill your destiny. That is until this very moment. In my crystal ball I see another way. A way to send you back to the Realm of the Living complete with a body and a mind of your own. It will be difficult road filled with several obstacles along the way. We will have to place strict restrictions upon you, as the living should not know what lies in the There After. I propose that we will allow you to gain corporeal form."

"You mean you will give me a body and a life again?" Greg choked out in disbelief. His eyebrow arched as he waited for her response.

"We will indeed grant you physical form and to walk freely in the Realm of the Living. But this is only possible through short periods of time. Therefore you would only be able to return to the living world only during certain times and a set duration of time that you are capable of handling. If you are in the Realm of the Living too long, your soul maybe irreparably damaged. It too will need its rest for obtaining physical form is quite draining."

"I understand," Greg nodded and accepted this limited existence.

"There are rules that you will have to abide by. No one is to know that you are dead. If they should find out for themselves, then you may of course elaborate your situation. We will have placed protection against them gaining the knowledge. Secondly, no one can know what it is like to die. You would not be able to give them an accurate answer anyways because your soul has never passed through the Gates of Death. You should know that each soul's passage is unique and it is impossible for you to enlighten them upon their own eventual journey into the after life. Thirdly, and lastly, you will not be able to claim your own scientific works. I hope you understand that dead people do not cure the living. They do not develop new technology. Do you understand and accept these conditions?"

"I do," Greg answered confidently. He understood what they were attempting to do. Furthermore, he understood their need for secrecy. No one came back from the dead and it would only cause more problems for the living world to know that there was someone walking amongst them who is indeed deceased.

"Very well, then it shall be done," Destiny lowered her golden scepter to Greg's shoulder and cast him away. It felt like his feet were being forcibly removed from the ground. The world spun around him and when he opened his eyes again he found himself in a strange place being cared for a very elderly man with crisp blue eyes.

"You do not need to fear me, Gregory Hojem Sanders. I am giving you the gift of life after death.

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To Be Continued...

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	4. StarStruck In Love

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Chapter Four: Star-Struck in Love

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**_(May 22, 1997 Las Vegas, Nevada)_**

Greg was excited to return home to his Mead Lake home and laboratory. During his previous visit, he had discovered a huge breakthrough in his attempts to create an antivirus. He spent all his time away thinking of ways to test the theory and prove that it is indeed a reality.

However, these past seven days have been nothing short of living torture. Every experiment he planned to test his theory on failed. It was beginning to look like he once again had made a mistake.

It was early evening when Greg sighed at the specimen he was testing. Once again, his experiment failed. Greg was to the point of believing he never had a breakthrough at all. Instead, he had a sparkling glimmer of hope that faded into noting more than a mirage.

One after another blew up in his face until he had all but given up. Well, there was no more point in staring down at the latest failed attempt. What more could he do? He wondered. Maybe he had forgotten something? Maybe there was a series of variables that he had not taken into account. He thought that was impossible, when he arrived, but now he's starting to doubt that.

Let down and worn out, he drug himself to the basin and gazed in. "Death?" he asked the clear fluid. His voice was weary and without energy. Everything he had was worn thin and to the core. "Death, are you there?" he asked again.

"I'm here," Death spoke plainly enough. "Just got finished escorting more souls through the Gates of the Dead. What do you need?"

"Not sure," Greg answered tiredly. "All my experiments have failed." He sighed. "Death, I'm not sure I can do this any more. The whole world is counting on me and they don't even know it. I've managed to create so much and yet I am still failing with the last discovery I was to make."

At wits end, and hanging by a thread, Death could see the wear on his young friend's face. It was plain as day that he was just about to give up, walk back to the House of Destiny and request that his soul be put to ease. It was written in his soft brown eyes.

"The Destinies would not have sent you to the shaman if you were not capable of the tasks that lie ahead of you." Death tried to reason with him.

"Look, Death I appreciate it, really but I don't think I can do this any more. I don't have what it takes."

"That's a load of rubbish if I ever heard it," Death answered promptly. "You're just tired. Take a break."

"Maybe," Greg sighed again.

"I'm not escorting you through the Gate of the Dead until you fulfill your tasks, so you can just take your time."

Greg said nothing. Death was what he wanted the most, and death was exactly what was denied from him.

"Fine, be that way. I'll just walk up the golden stairwell myself."

"You wouldn't," Death said abashed.

"Wouldn't I?" Greg taunted.

"You wouldn't know where to go, how to cross through." Death tried to reason with him not to attempt it.

"Does it matter? I would be dead right?" Greg had no intention of walking up that stairway alone, he was much too fearful of the ascending steps to the There After. However, Death was always fun to taunt and it lifted his spirits to see him fret so.

"Well, I suppose," he uttered, well aware that Greg wasn't really serious. Then, it occurred to him what Greg really needed. He not needed a break, he needed a vacation. For the past eight-two years he's done nothing but work in the laboratory they set up during his first trip to the living world. For eighty-two years he's done nothing but look down upon the viruses, diseases, and bacteria he worked so hard to eradicate without ever complaining. Certainly there were hard times, but Death could never remember Greg looking so bleak on things.

"You know what I think you need?" Death wiggled his eyebrows with that mischievous smirk he occasionally got. Particularly when he created something he considered brilliant.

"What's that?" Greg asked less than enthusiastically. He was tired, short-tempered and overall, feeling like he could use a good night sleep.

"I believe you are lonely, overworked, tired, and frustrated. I don't blame you. You've worked eighty hard long years at fulfilling your destiny and I think you have earned a vacation." Death smirked.

"A vacation? You really think a few days of simple lounging around are going to solve things? Death, you don't get it. I'm tired of it. I can't handle the failure any more. Please, just… let me die. I've earned that."

"I do not expect a few days of lounging around to solve anything." Death began. "The vacation I am proposing is for years, and I think you could use a bit of a distraction, so I will also permit you to engage in intimate relations."

"And what about the oath of secrecy?" Greg knew, like nearly anyone out there knew. It was going to be hard to have a close intimate relationship, disappearing for months at a time with no word, and no explanation to why. It was something that Greg outright refused to do. He wouldn't lie to a person he was supposed to be in love with.

The decision to remain solitary wasn't only his decision. It was a decision both Greg and Death agreed upon. Now, Death was retracting his previous statements and was going to allow Greg to engage in romantic interests.

"I told you, Death. I refuse to lie to the person I'm sharing a bed with."

"You wouldn't have to," Death answered quickly. "I give you permission to tell them as much as you see fit, in your own way. But, only that one person, death should still remain a mystery to the public at large."

"I understand." Greg nodded. "Is there anything else?"

"Enjoy yourself," and Death vanished from the clear liquid from the basin.

For the first time since he first arrived back, Greg was feeling excited. Overjoyed by the prospect of being able to experience people again, he ran from his upstairs bedroom to the foyer took the phone in his hand and called every number he could think of. None of them were home. Not, Wendy, Mandy, Jackie, or Mia. They were all at work, so he left them messages.

They were the only friends he had. They were all science nerds like he, though none of them as brilliant as he was. He didn't tell them that though. After all, his accomplishments were supposed to end in 1915, when his body quit working.

Restless, and anxious, Greg cleaned his entire house up. The place had become a mess in the past seven days. Papers were strewn around the place, dirty dishes piled high in the sink, and the rubbish not taken out like it was supposed to be. The place was a pigsty.

Three hours passed, and the place was looking nearly spotless. Greg had a few more counters to clean and some windows to wash and he would be done. But it would never happen. Just as he took out the cloth to place it under the faucet, the phone rang.

'Please be Wendy,' he thought as he really wanted to go out with her tonight. To his pleasure, it was Wendy's name on the ID.

"Wendy, it's wonderful to hear your voice again," said Greg overly sarcastic. "You know how you always wanted to get me out of that lab?"

"Nice to hear from you too, Greg. It's been a long shift, so what is it?" She was tired, drained, and it was evident in her voice.

"Well, I thought it might be fun if we… uh… got out and had a bit of fun, you know?"

"You're actually going to leave that sacred lab of yours?" she questioned him pointedly. There have been so many times when Wendy begged, no pleaded desperately for Greg to go to some club with her and every single time Greg refused in favor of staying a little later in that basement laboratory of his.

"Yep, I'm actually going to leave," he spoke merrily to his worn out friend. It was as though Death gave him a shot of pep and he was ready for anything. Being free from his work seemed to boost his moral to unforeseen heights. "I want to get out there, live a little you know."

"All right, I'll be by to pick you up in a few." Wendy moaned.

Thirty-five minutes later, Wendy pulled up into his gravel drive and honked her horn loudly. Greg rushed out, wearing his club finest, and slid in.

"Where to?"

"Anywhere that would take a man dressed like me." Greg replied smugly knowing there was only one place in Vegas that would take a man dressed as he was. He was clad in a skin-tight black tank top, with a Hawaiian shirt over it with the top three buttons left undone. He wore long shorts, past his knee, that too fit him snug around the waist and particularly showed off his hind end, he thought quite nicely. On his feet, he wore the classic flip flops, a risky move, but Greg was willing to pay the price of barely protected feet.

Wendy took one look at Greg and knew exactly where to go. She started the car and drove the distance to Downtown Las Vegas, right to the strip. People were packed there as usual. Some people (Greg suspected tourists mostly) stood at awe gawking at the magnificent neon lights. Greg too, was mesmerized by their blinding brightness.

This would be the first time Greg Sanders walked into the doors of a nightclub at the Las Vegas strip. Ordinarily, he'd be much too modest to show his nerdy face at a place filled with people that would have beat him up, if he were at the modern high school. However, Death's gift of allowing him the chance to fall in love seemed to empower Greg beyond all else. This also seemed to give Greg an unusual amount of courage, even for his standards.

Wendy parked the car, sloppily in Greg's opinion, because she was barely between the lines with her huge SUV. He didn't complain as they walked together to join the already lengthy line at the club.

"Was this what you had in mind?" asked Wendy, pulling her brunette hair back in a ponytail.

Smiling, Greg answered, "Absolutely."

Idle conversation surrounded Greg as he looked up at the clear night sky to see that beautiful full moon sitting right in the middle. It marked seven more days Greg had to spend here among the living. He sighed wishing he had all that time to woe a lover, but seven days ought to be enough.

A decent looking blonde walked up with a man in tow. The man didn't appear too enthusiastic about going to this nightclub. He stood next to the lovely lady simply watching the people around him. Greg felt an instant attraction for this man. He could not explain how, or why, all he knew was that he was attracted to the man.

The man appeared to be in his early thirties, by Greg's best guess. He had deep brown eyes, filled with the passion of life. Greg found himself staring endlessly into those brown depths. His skin was tanned, His hair dark brown to match his gorgeous eyes. He wore a good-fitting long-sleeved black shirt, with ass hugging black pants adorning a black leather belt with silver buckle. On his feet he wore the only piece of clothing that did not match his outfit.

In fact, the worn brown-leather boots stood out magnificently against his otherwise black outfit.

He wasn't talking to his escort, or even making physical contact. Something Greg found odd between two people who otherwise appeared to be going together. Then, he looked at his own escort and realized they were doing the same thing. They weren't lovers. Lovers would have been like the couple down the way, arms around the other kissing deeply and tenderly. No, this beautiful man just stood there quietly with his arms folded over his chest.

The attraction didn't appear to go just one way either. The gorgeous man in front of Greg also appeared to be watching him intently. Every now and then, Greg swore he saw the men sneer towards Wendy, but he neither commented on it, nor blamed him for it. Not when he was doing the exact same thing to his escort.

When the line started moving, Greg desperately tried to convince himself that he was not falling in love with a man. Over and over, he scolded his mind for wandering back to that gorgeous man that stood next to him in line. He was so eager to get out of the lab and go to a nightclub and to have some fun. Now, all Greg wanted was to be back in the small room with all his beakers and mechanical gizmos.

The place was noisy, bright and exciting, yet Greg sat in the half circle booth thinking on that beautiful man. Why did it have to be man? He wondered. His mind could not move away from the point that he is attracted to another man and not a woman as he anticipated.

He gazed up at that man to see a similar woeful expression. The strange man too appeared to be in the same tug of war as Greg was in.

"Well," Wendy sat down, panting from a lively dance. "Are you just going to sit here, or are you going to get out there and dance a bit."

"I was thinking…" Greg lowered his head. "I'll dance," he changed his mind not thinking that Wendy needed to know he was attracted to another man. "Care to join in?" he extended his hand.

"Never thought you'd ask."

Wendy was a great dancer and he did find it enjoyable dancing with him. However, he barely looked at her. A few feet away danced that beautiful man and no matter how hard Greg tried to push him from is mind he just wouldn't go. What he wanted and refused to believe it for even the briefest of seconds was that he wanted to dance with him.

The song ended, Greg and Wendy moved back towards their semi-circular booth and took a seat there.

"Greg is there something wrong?" she asked.

"I don't know what you mean," Greg attempted to shrug it off.

"I don't believe that." Wendy retorted instantly. "The entire time we were dancing you were distant."

"No I wasn't."

"Yes, you were. Now what's bothering you Greg?"

"I…" Greg started to come up with another excuse but abandoned it. Wendy might not have been as brilliant in the sciences as he was, but she wasn't stupid. Sighing, he was left with no other option. He had to tell her the truth. "I think I'm… I'm…"

"Yes," Wendy tried to encourage him.

"I… look at him," Greg discretely pointed to the brunet man that stood next to them in line. "He's beautiful. His eyes… they speak to my soul, I swear. I think… I'm falling or him… but how can I, Wendy, I've never thought about guys like this." He lowered his head in shame against the table.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Wendy placed her hand caringly over his shoulder. "Personally, I should have seen it from the beginning."

"What do you mean?" Greg lifted his head from the table.

"You are a very good looking man, Greg. Any girl would be jumping at the chance at snagging you right up. All your friends are girls Greg, good looking ones at that, and still you don't choose to go out with any of them."

Greg would've argued the point, but the subject was in the forbidden category and so he refrained accepting Wendy's rationalization.

"It's okay if you like guys in that way, Greg. You're still my best friend. Why don't you go cut in. I don't think he likes his lady friend very much."

"Me either," agreed Greg, getting up from the table and swaggered over across the dance floor.

The place was packed with people dancing to the blaringly loud music. Difficultly, he pushed his way through the pulsating crowd to where the gorgeous man danced distantly with his pretty blonde escort.

"May I cut in?" Greg asked looking at the brunet fondly.

"You may," he answered. Greg took his moist hands in his own and pulled his body close to his. "I'm Greg Sanders," he introduced himself.

"Nick Stokes."

Greg could swear that he felt electric sparks coursing through his body. Nick pulled him in closer until they were dancing chest to chest. His muscular arms wrapped around him and he whispered, "I prefer to have you like this."

Nick intoxicated him in ways he had never been before. It had been so long since Greg's loved or even been allowed to love. The closer he got to Nick, the more he felt his heart deepen and open to the affection Nick gave. The shallow breath swept across his skin sent legions of goose bumps down his spine. His musky aroma surrounded him placing him in a blissful haze.

Each minute that passed, Greg felt as though he were being swept off his feet. The songs came and went but their dance continued. His body responded in ways it hadn't in years. His jeans became constricted and tight. Nick seemed to enjoy his discomfort as he pressed closer to his dance partner, allowing Greg to feel his own arousal.

Greg looked up in those starry brown eyes that stared deep into his soul and he knew his heart was falling in love with this man. It was clear by those same eyes that the man who held him close too was developing strong feelings for him.

"The club's not really my place," whispered Nick. "Do you know any place we could go?"

"Mmm," moaned Greg and pressed his erection harder into his partner. "I have a place on the lake," Greg suggested.

"Sounds perfect," Nick beamed.

Greg was eager to get back to the solitude of his Lake Mead house. It was the perfect spot. In the old shed he had some ATV's and he knew the perfect spot down at the lake's edge. He couldn't wait to take Nick there. The more he gazed at him, the more he felt like he was falling down this tube deeper and deeper into love.

It nearly took too long for Nick to pull into Greg's drive. The man did drive very conservatively.

"This way," Greg pulled him by the arm to the old shed. "I know the perfect place." With glee he practically skipped over into the shed and pulled out two ATV's.

"You know, I think we only need one of these, love." Nick climbed on one and patted the space in front of him. With a smile on his face, Greg hopped on and felt Nick's arms wrap around him tightly. "Steal me away, my love, steal my heart away."

"Don't worry, I plan to," Greg turned his head. He wanted to kiss Nick at that moment and yet he pulled back. He didn't now what stopped him. It wasn't as though he was afraid, but he just wasn't sure that Nick wanted it. He started the ATV and flipped on the lights before zooming down the dirt path that would lead them to the lake's edge.

"Wow, it's beautiful," Nick hopped off the ATV and walked to the water's edge. Greg joined him shortly later wrapping his arm nonchalantly around Nick's lower back.

"I thought this would be a good place to get to know each other." Nick turned to face him. He looked upon Greg's moonlit face and smiled seductively.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

They kicked off their shoes and sat with their feet in the breaking water. Nick talked at length about growing up the youngest child out of seven. He was from Texas and his father was a judge. He talked about how he became a criminologist and how he ended up in Las Vegas. Then he talked about his fascination with birds and flight and if he had a magical power it would be to fly.

Everything Nick talked about mesmerized Greg. The man wasn't just good looking, but he was kind, genuine, and a loving person. All this made Greg fall in love with him even deeper. He never experienced love at first sight before. In fact he doubted its very existence. That was before he saw Nick though. He loved the way he talked with that Texas twang, and the way his ears turned pink every time Greg embarrassed him by pointing out some of his finer qualities.

"Well, now you know everything there is to know about me," Nick said slowly and softly. "So, what about you? I don't know anything about you."

"What do you want to know?" Greg asked again. There were several things that Greg wasn't prepared to talk about. He didn't want to outright lie to Nick because that would be unfair to him. He would have to talk to Death as soon as he is able about the situation at hand. While, he suspected that Nick was one of those people Death wouldn't mind him telling his deep dark secret to. He just needed to make sure.

"Everything," Nick answered, mocking Greg all the while.

"Well, there's not much to tell." Greg started and thinking about what he was going to tell him. "I was born in San Francisco, but my parents traveled to Europe a lot. When I was three, my father died of a viral infection to his nervous system. From that day on I promised myself I would find a way to prevent other people from going through the same tragedy. When I was five it was discovered that I was a child genius, so I was sent through intense schooling to challenge my brain and to push me harder and encouraged me to think. When I was fifteen I went to Cambridge University and acquired my diploma. I then applied to the doctorate program at Oxford University where I procured my doctorate by the time I was twenty years of age. I then secured a job at one of the most prestigious laboratories in the world, but I decided that wasn't what I wanted to do with my life. When I turned twenty-three I found this place and bought it, placing a fully operational laboratory in the basement and here I've been ever since.

"I was an only child, of a very well-off couple. I wouldn't call them rich, but my mom and dad certainly were not poor. My mom was over protective of me. After my father died, she started keeping me isolated. I think she feared that I too would be taken away from her too soon. She passed on not too long ago.

"In my free time, when I have it, I enjoy looking at the stars, spending time out on the lake, or taking long walks. They help me clear my head when my experiments fail. They do that quiet often. It is my goal to create an antivirus by the time I am done, and then I shall retire." Greg smirked. "Is there anything else?"

"Yeah, what's your favorite color?" Nick asked smugly.

"Red… and no I am not working for any one. I am running my own lab under my own funding with some help from Federal Grants, private investors, and every now and then I do take on a contract job."

"Must be nice being independently wealthy."

"There are benefits," Greg wiggled his eyebrows and gazed into Nick's soft brown eyes. "Especially for the partner of the said independently wealthy person."

"Oh? How's that?" Nick scooted closer to Greg so they were touching sides.

"Well, for starters, they'd get all the spoils of the wealth and none of the work," Greg paused. "And secondly, they'd get to spend time with the lovable me."

"Well, then I'm one lucky man," Nick turned to face Greg. Their eyes locked bother filled with want, desire, and if Greg dared to think it, love.

The distance they kept closed between them. Their eyelids closed as their lips barely made contact. Sparks of electricity coursed through both their bodies. Their arms wrapped around the other and pulled them still closer. Both moaned at the contact, the sensations the other gave them. Nick's tongue lathed over Greg's upper lip and instinctively, he let his mouth open accepting Nick's curious tongue to explore the confines of his mouth.

Gently, Nick pulled him down until they lay upon the sand still wrapped in the other's arms their feet still in the waves breaking upon the soft sand. Slowly, Greg felt his barriers crumble as he let his more primal self take over. The self that Greg constantly kept locked away, now was out and dominating all thought. His lust took control as another primal moan left his busied lips.

Nick was consumed by similar sensations and urges. Never before had he been so quick to want to undress someone to shove them down and let nature run its course. Was it possible that he was in love with the young man entangled within his arms? It certainly felt like love. He never knew feelings as strong as the ones he was experiencing just now.

Each kiss intensified his need until he couldn't restrain himself a second longer and began grinding himself into Greg. The friction alone was driving him crazy urging him on. Greg's moans enticed him to keep moving faster and faster as his need, and desires grew exponentially.

His hands snuck under Greg's shirt pushing up above his head and off. Greg followed by removing Nick's their kisses were only broken by the need to remove the other's clothing and it seemed as both wanted exactly the same thing.

Finally, Nick pulled from Greg's swollen ruby lips and looked him square in the eye. Panting for breath, he asked, "Where do you want this to go?" He paused again to take a few more breaths. "Because if we continue this any more, I'm not going to be able to stop."

Greg thought about it for a moment. All it took was a moment before his mind was made up. He has never been with a guy before, but he was certain he wanted what Nick was offering.

"Please continue," Greg requested, his voice hoarse with lust, passion, and pleasure.

Nick didn't need to be told twice. His arms latched onto Greg's slender frame and pressed his bare chest against Greg's kissing him with a force that Greg had not felt. Powerful kisses filled with desire overwhelmed Greg as he lowered his guard and let the actions happen.

His eyes closed when Nick's hands gently stroked his sides eliciting more goose bumps. Nick shifted his head to Greg's shoulder and began suckling upon his neck. His hands moved lower to the top of Greg's jeans and the young man moaned with desire.

"Please," Greg begged and Nick didn't deny.

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To Be Continued...

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If you liked what you read, please let me know by leaving feedback... If you didn't like what you read, leave me feedback and tell me why and what I can improve... 


	5. The Dangling Corpse

Disclaimer: I do not own the names or likenesses of any character from CBS's hit drama CSI. I am only borrowing...

Thank you rmcfox, and Shizmoo for your wonderful feedback.

If you like what you read here, please let me know. If there is something I could do better, please feel free to let me know I won't bite people's heads off for constructive critism. I am looking for a beta if you are interested Please let me know...M

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Chapter Five: The Dangling Corpse

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**_(May 23, 1997 Las Vegas, Nevada)_**

Nick awoke abruptly with the sun shining brightly in his eyes. For a second he nearly forgot where he was, until he saw the young man curled up inside his arms snoring softly. A smile spread across his face at the sight of the angelic man sleeping inside his arms. He was just as beautiful now as when Nick first saw him.

He combed his fingers through Greg's hair, attempting to wake the man gently from his solid slumber. It wasn't that he had to move, or go to the restroom. No, Nick had to be at work today. It was all thanks to Jim Brass, a man he wasn't sure he really liked.

"Greg," Nick whispered to the man. Greg grunted in response and turned his head away. "Oh, no you don't" He took the sleeping man into his arms, walked him out to the water's edge (now ten feet lower than it had been) and dumped his sleeping ass in the cool lake water of Lake Mead.

Instantly, his eyes flew open and angrily glared at Nick. "Why, ya do dat?" he asked angrily and kicked water all over Nick's naked body.

"You wouldn't wake up," Nick retorted. He wasn't really mad. More like, he was amused at the situation in front of his eyes. There sat the most beautiful person Nick had ever set eyes on propped up on his arms in about a foot of water.

The angered expression washed from Greg's face replaced by a gleam of a playful disposition. The man reached up and clasped onto Nick's arm and pulled him forward sharply until he too fell into the cool lake water with a sloppy thud.

Want, desire, passion, and life filled Greg's eyes as he closed the distance between them. His lips made soft contact with Nick's and all Nick wanted to do was to melt in Greg's embrace. But he couldn't.

"Greg," he panted desperately for breath. Greg did have the tendency to rob him of oxygen a feat he appeared proud of more than anything else. "I wish I could…but…" he pried himself away from Greg's clutches. "I have to go to work. 'M sorry." He was truly sorry for having to go to work. If he had his way, he'd spend all day with the intriguing Greg Sanders.

"Oh," Greg tilted his head down.

"Don't worry, I'll come back."

Greg's eyes lit up with hope and desire. "You… you really… mean it?" Greg choked out hardly believing that Nick wanted to see more of him. This gorgeous man wanted to spend more time with him, Greg Sanders world's biggest science nerd. The idea was nearly unfathomable for Greg to comprehend. How did he get so lucky?

"What can I say, you stole my heart." Nick pulled his young love from the water and wrapped his arms around him. "I want to know everything about you. I want to spend every waking moment with you in your arms."

Suddenly, Greg pulled away. From what Nick said about him it was clear that he was a good ways down the path that would eventually lead to deep rooted love. In fact, he was already far enough down that road that Greg could already see the love he carried for him within Nick's beautiful eyes. It was as pure as anything Greg had ever seen or known.

"What's wrong?" Nick asked. "Did I say something wrong? Don't you want to spend time with me?" He was nearly hurt by Greg's withdraw.

"No, you did nothing wrong. Nothing's wrong. I do want to spend time with you," Greg assured him. "It's just… I think you should know that in six days time at sundown I will be leaving town for about four months. And I'm sad to say that there will be limited communication."

Greg couldn't lie to him that everything was going to be all right. He couldn't force Nick to remain loyal to him if he didn't want to pursue the difficult relationship he is about to embark upon. It wouldn't be fair to him not to know how limited their time really was.

"Unfortunately, this is the reality of my life." Greg lowered his head and sank slowly back into the sand. "I'm never here for long. I'll always be disappearing nearly out of contact. I can't ask you to continue this. I would like it if you would. But I can't… I can't ask you to stay with this if you're not able to handle the reality of it." Greg came right out and said it.

Lowering to Greg's level, Nick looked him straight in the eye. He didn't dare look anywhere else.

"Does it look like I'm going anywhere?" Nick asked Greg. "I'm not going anywhere. Last night was… was amazing. I've never known feelings like this before, Greg and I would be willing to go through anything to keep them. I'm sure we can work it out so there is a way."

"I'm not sure how," whispered Greg. "I don't have a choice."

"Then, I promise that I will wait for you. I will wait for you Greg. I want this to work out. I want you to meet my parents, my family. I want to show you off, but even more I want to keep you my little dark secret for me to enjoy. I… I think I love you Greg. I know it's soon, but I think I really do."

"Really? You really l-love me?" Greg gazed meaningfully to Nick.

"Yeah, I think I do. Greg, I've never felt feelings this strong before. I've never wanted to skip work to spend the day with a person before today. I don't want to go to work because I'd much rather sit here and spend it with you. I will wait for you. We'll figure out a way, all right. Don't worry about it. Let me handle it. I'm the one who's taking the chance. Let me decide what I would be willing to bear for you."

"All right," Greg nodded and pulled him self up. "I just… I don't know if I'm worth that kind of commitment."

"Oh, trust me Greg, you're worth it."

"So, I'll see you when you get off work?" Greg gazed at Nick hopefully.

"Absolutely," Nick smiled. "I must warn you, they have a tendency to give me doubles, but I'll be back here as soon as possible. I wouldn't want to miss out."

They shared a few lengthy needy kisses before the searched the beach for their clothes and pulled them on one after another. They said very little to it, but it was clear from the way they looked at the other the love they were beginning to share. Hand in hand, they walked back to the ATV, and Greg drove it back up to his house.

"You can feel free to use this place when I'm gone. Bring whatever you want to here. You can move in if you desire." Greg informed Nick.

"Thanks, I'll see you later all right?" He kissed Greg good bye, and walked over to his truck.

"Hey, I want you to do something for me."

"Yeah, what's that?" Nick stared at him for a moment.

"I want you to investigate me, like you would anyone." Greg handed him the coffee cup he was drinking from and Nick took it without question.

"You sure?"

"I need you to know the truth about me. When you find it, I promise, I will tell you anything and everything you need to know." Greg pecked him on the cheek and watched as his new love backed from his drive and drove down the street to his place of employment.

Instantly, Greg ran into his house, and straight into his bedroom. It was a beautiful bedroom, designed in a Roman style. In the corner sat a small porcelain water basin filled with a clear sparkling liquid.

"Death," he called into the sparkling liquid. "Are you there?" he called out.

"Yeah, I'm here, what do you need?" Death yawned.

"I… I found… I found someone." He huffed trying to catch his breath.

"Already?" Death looked nearly shocked.

"Yeah, I know it happened pretty fast, but… I think there might be real feelings here," Greg explained.

"Yes, I do see the love he feels for you." Greg glared at him questioningly for a moment. "What? I've been checking in on you since our last conversation." It was a likely story, but it was clear that Death truly was worried about his young charge.

"Fine, then I'll expect you to know all the little details about this guy."

"Well, as it happens, I did look into this Nicholas Stokes character. I've been looking for non-existent flaws as Cupid put it. As I hate to admit, he is a man of integrity. He is honest, modest, sincere, and overall genuine from everything I know about him. He is also empathetic, and cares a great deal about people. He cares a great deal about you." Death spoke honestly.

"Does, this mean I have your consent to tell him the truth about me?"

"I don't see why you shouldn't." Death answered. "I am sure if you tell him to keep it secret. I believe that he will keep your secret until the grave. I am not worried about Mr. Nick Stokes. In fact, I wish you two the best. I keep trying to find a flaw with him but I am unable. It appears he is the real deal."

"Thanks, Death. It means a lot." Greg smiled broadly and flopped down on the bed lost in a lust-filled daydream about his new boyfriend.

* * *

Nick arrived at the lab about fifteen minutes late. He underestimated the drive from Greg's place down by Lake Mead in the mountains to his house and then to the lab. He would have saved the fifteen minutes had he just arrived in the clothes he wore last night. However, he didn't think he'd have been able to handle the comments behind his back.

He walked in nonchalant as usual, and stepped into the fingerprint analysis room. He didn't know the lady standing at the vast array of gizmos and chemicals yet. He was brand new to this department and he hadn't gotten the chance to meet the laboratory technicians yet and he was greatly looking forward to it.

"I need to have a word with you," Nick said.

"Sure, what cha need?" Jacqui asked.

"I think this should be done in private."

"You're the new guy… um… Nick is it?"

"Yeah," Nick answered confidently. "I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name."

"Oh, Jacqui," she extended her hand. "They were right about you," her eyes lit up excitedly. "You are just down right gorgeous. I could just eat you up. So tell me, do you have plans after shift?"

"Yeah, actually, I do. I kind of met this girl last night, and I promised I'd stop by her place for dinner tonight."

"Too bad…" she continued working on whatever it was that had her attention.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Nick asked.

"Oh, nothing. I thought you had something to talk to me about in private?"

"Yeah, I do," Nick stated. "Is there some place more… um secluded than this?" Nick glanced around at the glass windows that surrounded the lab. There wasn't a place he couldn't see from where he stood and frankly, he wasn't sure he trusted his boss just yet.

"Follow me," she led him down the hall, through the conference room, out the janitorial door and out behind the building and then back around the corner. "This happens to be the only place around this building that isn't filmed and it is impossible to be overheard. Well, if you talk moderately soft." She added.

"I need you to run something for me, personally."

"Oh, this is one of _THOSE_ requests, is it?"

"Chain of custody doesn't matter, search all channels avenues, and tell me personally when you have found him." Nick handed her the mug Greg handed him this morning.

"Why is this so important?"

"I don't know, it just might be," Nick turned from her and started back towards the building.

"Hey, Nick. I'm kind of busy today, how soon do you need this by?"

"It's going to take a while to find, so you will probably need one computer constantly on it," Nick advised and walked back into the building.

The further he got, the bigger his smile spread across his face. Visions of Greg, naked on Lake Mead's beach, flashed through his head. The images only made his smile grow. He waved to people he hardly knew as he walked past, and smiled all the way into the locker room, shocked to find a new man sitting upon the bench.

He was a tall fellow, with green eyes, and of mixed African descent. He had a Celtic tattoo on his bicep, and appeared very fit.

"Warrick Brown," he extended his hand. Nick gratefully accepted and went to his locker changing into something a little more suitable for investigating a gruesome murder scene if necessary.

"Nick Stokes," Nick offered his name.

"Hey Nick, you're with me," Catherine poked her head in.

"Nice meeting you," he slammed his locker shut and walked out the door. "What's the case?"

"Body found over near the Hoover Dam. The Sheriff wants us to investigate."

"You kidding me? The guy was probably out camping, got lost and got attacked by a cougar." Nick reasoned.

"I'm not joking, and you're probably right, but the Sheriff still wants us to investigate." Catherine handed him the case file. "Meet you in the truck in five."

He wasn't complaining about driving all the way out near Henderson. After all, Greg lived out that way, and he wouldn't complain about being closer to him. Nick also didn't complain the simple case he's been handed. At least he wouldn't have to stare down the body of a murdered child.

Then, Jacqui passed and he couldn't stop his curiosity about those search results. "Hey, you found anything off that fingerprint?" Nick asked.

"Nothing yet, I'll let you know," Jacqui walked off. Nick really didn't expect her to find him so soon. If Greg told him it was going to be a challenge. Then it would be safe to assume that his print would not pop out on the first or even second data-bases. He knew it was only a matter of time.

Quickly, he walked down the hall and out to the truck where Catherine waited impatiently for him.

"There you are," she said before hopping in the driver's seat and cranking the engine.

"Listen, I'm sorry about last night. I really shouldn't have left like that." Nick apologized.

"Don't worry about it," she forgave him. "I found a man willing to drive me back to my place. Besides, you seemed to be getting along with that guy very well last night."

Butterflies churned in his gut at the memory of last night. Oh, how wonderful it was, dancing with Greg. It was as though nothing else in the world mattered except for him. And then… then they went off to the beach and had sweet tender sex under the cover of the full moon.

At the very memory of the events of the last twenty-four hours Nick's face began heating up, his ears turning a nice shade of pink, quickly followed by his usually tanned cheeks.

"Are you blushing?... Oh my God, you are blushing," Catherine quickly took note. "You didn't… You did, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," denied Nick who tried to hide the cheesy grin that was plastered over his face, and attempt to cool down his flushed face.

"Don't lie Nick, it only makes your ears turn redder. You slept with him didn't you?" she took her eyes off the road for a mere second.

"Did not," he lied.

"Fine, suite yourself, but why else would you be trying to cover up that cheesy grin you keep wearing? Or how you blushed when I mentioned last night?" She asked and continued driving down the road without another question on the subject.

The trip seemed to drag on forever, and all Nick could seem to think about was getting off shift to go back to Greg's to spend time drinking a glass of Merlot and getting reacquainted.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?" Catherine broke the long tense silence.

"Would it bother you to know that I did sleep with him?" Nick asked uncertain of himself. The truth was last night was the first time he'd ever been with a guy. He wasn't complaining it just felt so natural for him to be with Greg. It was like his body knew exactly what to do and when to do it, and he wasn't entirely certain what this meant. He had a boyfriend now, but was told this morning that he would hardly ever be around.

His heart felt as though it was being twisted tighter and tighter forging knots to appear from the twisted fibers.

"Why should it bother me?" Catherine asked. "So you walked out on your date with me with a guy and then slept with him. We never agreed to be exclusive, and I'm glad that you found someone who can make you blush at the mere thought of them. He must be a very special person to have won over your heart so quickly."

"Oh, he is," agreed Nick. "It's just… I've never done this before… had a relationship with a guy. I didn't know what to expect. He took me to his place last night. It was beautiful, we slept under the stars. It was the most romantic evening I've ever had. Then, he told me that he travels frequently and that he is rarely contactable once he's abroad and that's scary for me. I've never felt like this before, and I'd really like for these feelings to continue."

"Nick, it sounds like you're in love."

"I think I am," Nick agreed.

They talked about possibilities and options regarding Greg and his situation. Meanwhile, Nick decided once and for all he was going to give this relationship a fair shot.

They arrived at their crime scene to a complete and bizarre scene. No wonder the Sherriff wanted them to investigate it. There was a man hanging by his heels from the top most boughs of a tree. The whole thing reminded Nick of his youth when they used to spring bear traps all around the yard and he accidentally hoisted his sister in the air in a similar fashion.

"How'd he die?" Catherine called out to the responding deputy.

"Not sure," he answered. "There's no obvious sign of wounds."

"Obviously."

"We'll know more when we get him down."

The man appeared to be in his early fifties. An oddity as far as Nick was concerned. That took out nearly any possibility of a college prank or fell into a waiting trap. No, this man was placed here. Plus he was dressed completely in business attire, and did not appear to be the roughing it type.

Nick's trained eyes examined the ground and quickly found a worn brown leather wallet lying beneath the dangling man.

"Found a wallet…" Nick stated idly to Catherine. "Robert Hansen." He noted the name burned into the leather. Turning his head to his partner he said, "No money."

Catherine nodded and looked back to the deputy. "Who found him?"

"Oh, those two," he pointed to the two people standing slightly down the hill. "Couldn't bear to be around the poor chap. Ryan Sage and his fiancée, Elizabeth Mayor vacationing here from Frankfort, Kentucky. They decided to celebrate their wedding engagement by spending a few days here to see the Hoover Dam, and the Nevada wilderness. Ryan claims they just wanted to get away to some place private."

"Makes sense," answered Nick looking down at the two people standing down the hill from them.

"I'll talk to them. You document and collect evidence until the coroner shows up, lover-boy," instructed Catherine. Nick nodded and immediately got to work on the items that littered the ground. One by one he placed them in bindles and went to the next one.

It seemed like hours before David Phillips arrived at the scene and gazed up at the dangling body.

"Well, I haven't seen this before," muttered David. "Nick, is it?"

"Yeah," he answered.

"Could you do me a favor and find the end of that rope?"

"Sure, no problem," Nick answered and immediately started examining the tree and caught the rope going downward into a locking mechanism to a pulley system. There was something missing from the rig though. There was no automated contraption to hoist the man up there. No triggering device. This man was tugged up there by hand.

"Found it," stated Nick.

"Good, now we need to lower the body slowly to me."

Nick did as he was instructed and lowered the body into David's care. According to David's best estimate, Robert Hansen had been dead for at least four days. There was no physical evidence of wounds except the contusions around his ankles which David indicates are post mortem.

David confirmed what Nick already suspected. Mr. Robert Hansen had not been murdered here.

"Do you know what killed him?"

"No, but we should know more once we get it back to the lab." He pulled out a knife and sawed through the rope just below his feet.

"Yeah, I'll definitely want to know what killed this man…" he called to David. "What did you find you?" he turned to Catherine.

"Nothing more than what the deputy already said. I don't like this Nick. Something's not right here."

"You think they killed him?"

"Kill him? Probably not. However, I don't think they're innocent bystanders through this whole thing. What about you?"

"Died approximately four days ago. He was hoisted up there, there was no rigging device attached to the rope, only a locking mechanism. I was just thinking about how to remove it from the tree."

"Well, I'd get climbing," she handed him a pair of leather gloves and walked off to the truck.

It took him quite a while to remove the pulley system from the tree and secured it into sealed garbage bags. Once again, he combed over the leaf-covered ground in the hopes of finding something, but there was nothing that stood out to him. There were no footprints, or shoe impressions and he wasn't expecting to find them either.

They drove back to the lab mildly talking about the strange circumstances that surrounded Robert Hansen's murder. Both seemed to be at a complete loss to how he died and who killed him. They pulled into the lab's parking lot and walked up to the glass doors.

Gil was talking animatedly to Warrick about their case. They dropped their evidence at the various places and walked back to the break room where they continued their conversation.

"Nick," Jacqui poked her head through the door. "I need a word with you."

"What's that about?" Catherine asked.

"Personal business," Nick replied and walked out of the break room. Jacqui took him back around the corner of the building where they conversed earlier that day.

"Find anything?"

"No," she answered annoyed more than anything. "I've checked all the living data-basis, even the DMV, there's no record of this person. He doesn't have a driver's license, and he is not serving currently in any organized military unit in this country or any other country. He has not been convicted for any crime. I'm running out of options."

"He said it would be difficult. Look, if you can't find him in any living data-bases look for him in data-bases of the deceased."

"That could take a while," she started to protest.

"It needs to be done. I don't care how long. Just tell me when you find something all right?" Nick turned on his heel and marched back into the building.

There Catherine stood, quite irritated with him and Nick just disappeared into the locker room.

"What was that about?" asked Catherine.

"It's none of your business," growled Nick angrily.

"You're using the lab for your own personal investigation. Who are you investigating?"

"Greg Sanders on his orders. I don't know why he wants me to investigate him, but I know he must have a reason for asking me. Do me a favor, don't tell anyone."

"Under one condition."

"Name it."

"You keep me informed. What did Jacqui say?"

"I've had her running prints he left me. He's not in any living data-base in the world. I told her he said it might be difficult so I told her to check the deceased."

"Depending on they year the prints were taken, they can be a crap shoot."

"I know, but I feel obligated to do this." Nick answered. "What do you know about Robert Hansen?"

"He checked out a hotel room at the MGM Grand seven days ago. Never seen or heard of since."

"I say we should go check it out," suggested Nick and Catherine agreed.

The room was a mess. Obviously, a struggle had taken place in the room with the way things were strewn around the place. There was no blood to be seen either by eye or by other means. They really weren't expecting to find any from their victim, but they hoped the killer might have been clumsy. They weren't lucky.

Nick took to the suitcase tossed over in the corner. He tossed clothes aside looking for any kind of a hint that might let them know where Robert Hansen was from or what he was doing.

Then, he found it. A small little book with a United States Customs stamp pressed on the inside. "I've found a British passport. He's from England."

"Why would he travel all the way here?"

"Not sure. Maybe he had business with someone."

"Hey, check this out," she held up a leather bound book with Robert Hansen burned into the top slightly off center.

"Yeah, that's good, bag it." Nick suggested. It might have been their biggest clue yet. As it stood they had practically nothing to go on. A dead body hung upside down off a tree by Hoover Dam, an empty wallet, and a trashed hotel room. He was an English man who kept a diary. Outside of that, they had nothing to go on. They didn't even know what brought him to Las Vegas.

"Hey, listen, I promised Greg that I'd meet him for dinner. I'm going to go ahead and drop these off at the lab." Nick packed up his kit and took it to the truck.

"All right, things can wait until tomorrow. There's nothing probative here other than that diary. We can start back up tomorrow." Nick nodded in agreement and walked out with Catherine by his side.

Both of them agreed that the notebook can wait until tomorrow and left for the lab before headed to their respective destinations.

He rushed back over to Greg's place and knocked eagerly on the front door. There answered the most beautiful man dressed in a tuxedo and a top hat leaving Nick feeling particularly underdressed.

"Find anything yet?" Greg inquired about the search he put him on.

"Nope nothing yet." Nick answered and stepped in. "Do I need to change my clothes?" he arched an eyebrow at his lover.

"Nah, I like you just the way you are, sir," Greg escorted him into his beautiful house. This was really the first time Nick had seen the place. Sure he was inside briefly, but not enough to see the grandeur of it. The place was marvelous with fine furnishings done in a modern Roman style.

"How was the office?" Greg asked, pulling out a chair at the end of the large table out for him and waited.

"We found a guy named Robert Hansen dangling from a tree out near the Hoover Dam. We suspect he was murdered and placed in the tree to be found." Nick said idly not thinking much about what he told Greg.

Nick sat at the table and watched Greg stop at the name that escaped his lips. The expression on his face instantly told Greg that he recognized the name.

"You know him. Robert Hansen, I mean." Nick stated his thoughts.

"Know him? No, I do not expect that I know the Robert Hansen of which you speak. I did once work with a fellow called Riddick Hansen. I think he had a son named Robert. I'm not sure though, I haven't seen or heard of his son since Riddick's death." Greg sighed.

Nick looked at Greg nearly shocked that he potentially knew the victim's father. It didn't seem possible. Then, again there were a lot of things about Greg Sanders that didn't make sense to him. This house for instance. Where did he get the money? He supposed that Greg could've inherited the money from a wealthy relative or something, but there should be some record of him receiving the money. This place must have cost millions to get, yet he didn't appear to have a daily job.

Sitting across from him, Nick wondered what Greg was trying to prove by having him dig up his past? Did it have something to do with the mysterious death of Robert Hansen? Perhaps it was only coincidence. Either way, Nick was determined to get to the bottom of it.

* * *

TBC

* * *

Note: If you appreciate my hard work please let me know. M Thank you for reading. I hope you have enjoyed my story. Please keep in mind that I tend to update faster when I recieve feedback... 


	6. Into Ruin the Fortress Fell

I am sorry for the DELAY... but as you didn't care to leave me feed back Good bad or other then I don't see the need to care about a speedy posting of the next chapter (though I had it done ages ago)... I want to know something from you all... and it is SOMETHING that only YOU READERS can answer me... I want to know how I can improve my story. Since no one cares to post I will take that to mean MY STORY IS HORRIBLE not worthy of even the worst of comments... or feedback... so if it is THAT horrible... How can I improve it? ONLY YOU can answer this for me... I need your feedback... I would appreciate your feedback or any suggestions you have... I take good to honest answers...

Now with that I would remind you that I don't own any of the CSI characters or likenesses there of... I am just borrowing thank you...

* * *

**Chapter Six: Into Ruin the Fortress Fell**

* * *

_**(May 23, 1997 Las Vegas, Nevada)**_

Nick sat across from Greg wondering what it all meant. He didn't know if it meant anything at all. All Nick knew was that Greg knew a guy named Riddick Hansen that might have a son named Robert.

"What's for dinner?" Nick asked, his stomach grumbling with hunger.

"You'll see," Greg wiggled his eyebrows and sat across from him.

Nick watched him carefully as he wore the neat tuxedo complete with top hat. He felt completely underdressed, and very self-aware that he wore only a long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. "Do I need to change?" Nick gulped.

"I think not," Greg beamed lovingly to his lover.

With a pat from a white-gloved hand, a line of butlers dressed in white emerged from the double swinging doors with trays carried over their shoulders. Nick watched in awe as they moved towards him placing a covered dish in front of his widened eyes.

He looked at the dish in front of him and looked back to Nick, the butlers now disappearing back through the double hinged door. "You really didn't have to go through so much trouble," blushed Nick. He was completely overwhelmed by this. Never before had he been treated with such grace and elegance. His only wish was that he could appear as great looking as Greg.

"It was no trouble," Greg replied and lifted the metal covering from his plate.

Greg sat opposite of him, humming softly as he ate the wonderful food. Nick glanced down at his food again, wondering what delicious morsels would be hidden beneath the metal covering. Slowly, he lifted the handle, releasing captured steam into the air to reveal the most delicious looking chicken that Nick had ever seen.

"Well, go ahead," Greg encouraged him. He took the fork in his hand and took a small bite of the roasted chicken. It was wonderful and hurried to eat more until it was finished.

Never before had Nick experienced perfection. This meal was perfect in his opinion. Well, everything aside from Nick's casual attire.

"Shall we?" Greg stood from the table and walked gracefully over to Nick extending his hand.

Nick took his lover's hand and allowed Greg to pull him close. "I've always wanted to do that," whispered Greg lovingly into Nick's ear. "I hope it wasn't too awkward."

"No, no it was… wonderful," he answered honestly.

Another soft patter of a gloved-hand sounded and the butlers entered again, removing the dirtied plates, then once more to push the table to the side. The lights darken in the room, intimate music softly filled the air, and Greg stepped a little closer. "I was hoping you'd dance with me."

"I'd be honored," Nick answered earnestly and took him into his arms swaying to the music.

They danced and danced in each other's arms. Swaying to the music, they lost each other with the simplest of gazes, and the most intense feelings either had ever felt.

Morning came all too swift for Nick who would much rather stayed in bed snuggled up next to his beloved Greggo. He didn't know where the nickname came from, but it seemed to fit him properly. He rolled over, pecked his sleeping lover and left for the lab.

He hated leaving Greg alone, when they had so little time to spend together. They only had a few more days together, before Greg would disappear to wherever he went during his time abroad. Nick thought hopelessly that Greg might be able to take him with. However, this failed for two reasons. The first, he didn't have enough vacation days to cover four months of vacation. The second, he didn't know if Greg would permit him even if he did have the time off. The past two days have been marvelous, but was this all they were? Was this the height of their relationship? Was it always supposed to be this way? Nick wondered if all he was to Greg was someone to hang around and fuck at his own desires.

Nick did not complain about their sex. It was after all, some of the best sex he has ever had. However, he didn't know what Greg wanted out of the relationship. Nick saw Greg as someone to grow old with, adopt a few kids together raise a family and live life out to old age. The problem, Nick didn't know if Greg felt the same way. Would a relationship like that even be possible with Greg? Nick knew not the answers to these pressing questions.

He arrived at the lab, right on time, having brought a spare set of clothes to Greg's house this time. He strutted in and placed his rucksack in his locker then found Catherine in the break room working on he second cup of coffee.

"Hey," Nick sat down upon the soft leather sofa. "Find anything with that notebook yet?" Nick took out a yogurt from the fridge.

"No," she answered dejectedly. "The notebook's written in some kind of code. I've set a computer to work on it, but that might not even pan out." She sighed. "What about you?"

Nick sighed having found out little more than he was traveling fro England. Honestly, his mind was still on Greg and the situation he found himself hopelessly thrust into. He loved the man with the spiked, sandy blond hair, and the puppy dog brown eyes. He had never felt like that before, and it was a feeling he desperately wanted to continue feeling. So to the Englishman dangling from the desert's tree barely crossed his mind.

"You said he came from England."

"That's right," Nick agreed.

"I talked to the casino last night. They never saw Robert Hansen enter the casino. Cameras back up their statement. So… if he was here for leisure, it wasn't gambling."

"Maybe he wasn't here for leisure," suggested Nick. "He could have been here on business."

"I looked into that as well," Catherine pulled out a folder. "The man works for a British boarding school head of natural sciences." She pulled the mug of coffee to her lips taking a sip of the bitter black liquid. "I called the school. they said that Professor Hansen had requested an early vacation to tend to a personal matter."

"Personal matter?" Nick thought. His mind thought back to Greg and that is when it struck him. Greg mentioned that he knew a Riddick Hansen and believed his son to be called Robert. He wondered again, if they were one in the same.

He stood up, and walked out of the room leaving Catherine baffled to his abrupt exit.

"Nick," she called after him, walking briskly to catch up with the man. The encoded notebook, the personal matter, it seemed to make sense to Nick, even if it made none to anyone else. He took a computer station and pulled up a search in the box, he typed in Robert Hansen. He wanted to know everything there was about this mysterious man.

"Nick, what is it?" Catherine sat next to him.

"Something occurred to me," stated Nick as the record came up on the screen. "There," he saw it. "Under known relatives. Father, Riddick Hansen, mother Anna Marie Smith, both deceased."

"So?" Catherine not seeing what was so important about this unimportant fact.

"So… I think Robert Hansen was here on business. I think he was looking for someone he might have seen at his father's funeral, and I think there is someone who doesn't want the information Robert carried to reach its destination."

"The notebook," it suddenly dawned on Catherine. "The notebook is encoded. I bet it was meant for only one person to read. Now all we have to do is find out whom."

"I think I know who was supposed to get that notebook." Catherine turned to Nick astonished. "Last night, I accidentally told Greg about Robert Hansen. Not too much, just dropped the name. He said he knew a Riddick Hansen and he believed his son to be Robert."

"Nick, I saw Greg, I don't think he knew who Riddick Hansen was," Catherine said matter-of-factly.

"What makes you say he's lying?" said Nick defensively.

"Riddick Hansen was murdered in 1950." She looked at him critically. "How could Greg know who Riddick Hansen was? He's not that old."

How was that possible? Nick did not know. Though Greg never stated his age he always assumed Greg was in his early twenties. Either way he certainly was not old enough to have met Riddick Hansen.

He glanced over at Riddick's record. It was true. According to Scotland Yard, Riddick Hansen was caught up in a blotched burglary of Henry Fleming's house. He got away empty handed. After fleeing to an empty house, he was captured by the lead investigator, Charles Nobles. After insisting that he was overtaken by a case of delusion in his old age, and the fact that Riddick failed to obtain the object of his desire, Charles agreed not to file charges on his old friend. Riddick was found three days later shot to death in an ally two blocks east of Paddington Station.

Yet, Greg insisted that he had never lied to Nick. Confusion took command and Nick didn't know what to believe. He wanted to believe Greg. He really did, but he couldn't see how it was possible for Greg to have been to his funeral.

Then, Jacqui appeared and requested Nick to follow her out through the back door and around the corner.

"What did you find?" Nick asked. Jacqui said nothing and handed him a manila folder with Greg Sanders' name written on the tab. She turned sharply and walked back into the lab leaving Nick there to examine the contents of the folder.

He held his breath as he opened the folder. There was Greg Sanders. He appeared different than Nick remembered. His hair was darker and combed neatly over to one side. His face was a little more peaked. But there were also similarities. Greg still had those moles on the side of his face.

Tearing his eyes off the picture he glanced over at Greg's birth date: 1892, month and day unknown. Then, right under it read, "Death Date: September 26, 1915."

His heart nearly stopped. He couldn't believe what he was reading. No, he adamantly refused to believe what he was reading. His heart beat with fury, anger coursed through his veins. He was uncertain what to believe. Was Greg lying to him? He did not know… His breathing became rapid as he walked back into the lab. He took his car keys out and walked to his car.

"Nick where are you going?" Catherine called out to Nick. He didn't answer.

With tunnel vision, Nick drove the forty minutes to the remote house of Gregory Sanders, if that was even his name. He slid from his truck, his boots landing with a thud. He marched over there angrily and knocked on his door.

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?" Nick screamed angrily at Greg. Tears swelled in his eyes, his emotions stood on the brink of out of control. He felt betrayed somehow, used, and humiliated that he gave his heart so quickly and blindly. Now, he felt as though his heart was lying on the ground smeared over the pavement.

Greg remained calm. He expected Nick to lose his cool. He stood there at the door and waited silently for him to calm down. Anger continued to pulse through Nick, but Greg remained silent waiting for it to fade.

"If you will calm down, I will explain," Greg answered solemnly.

Nick nodded in agreement and Greg let him inside.

"I take it you received your answer from my fingerprints," said Greg calmly.

"I did," answered Nick. "Now, who are you? Really? Why did you steal this Greg Sanders' identity?"

Greg sighed. "I really am, Gregory Hojem Sanders. I gave you my fingerprints. I told you what you found would be the truth. I expected you to believe me." His voice sounded hurt as though Nick were ripping out his heart by the second. "I was born in 1892, my month and day were never recorded, but by my mom's recollection she thinks I was born in early May. I was a scientist. A great one, revered by many, more brilliant than Albert Einstein. I moved to England for my education. There were not many schools in Norway that ranked within the same caliber. Mom wanted the best for me. When I was fifteen, I moved away to study at Cambridge. I graduated having completed requirements necessary for me to pursue my doctorate. When I was nineteen, I graduated from Oxford with my doctorate. At the age of twenty, I applied and was accepted for a laboratory position in London's most prestigious lab. It was conditional though. In order for me to work, I had to sign an agreement with the King of England." Greg looked down.

"It is this agreement that brought upon my death. On June 28th, 1914, I found two military officers in my lab. The Archduke having been assassinated earlier that very day and they ordered me to make good on my agreement. War was eminent and on August 12th, they did indeed declare war. They sent me across the channel the day after the Archduke was assassinated. I arrived in an underground lab and they told… no ordered me to create chemical weapons. To my ever-lasting shame I did. When the commander arrived to check our progress I refused to hand them over. He called me a pansy of sorts and told me that I had no idea what our men were facing every day, what horrors they see. So, I packed my pack and left for the frontlines. There, I was in a trench during an air raid. I was hit by shrapnel and knocked out. That is when things got weird…

"Death went to escort me to the There After, but Destiny wouldn't allow it. She said my destiny was much too important for me to die. So, she sent Death back with me. It was too late, my body had died. They sent me to a shaman who put me through torturous journeys strengthening me for what now must be. It allowed me to live. I am dead, but through the ministrations of the Shaman I learned how to conjure a living, breathing body. For fifteen days, every four months I am able to rejoin the realm of the living and work on my destiny.

"For eighty-three years I have been working on creating the vaccinations, the bacterial and viral destroyers, and forced to pass them on through other, scientists. They would have never found the solution on their own. For, none were as brilliant as I. I handed over my results, and allowed them to finish my research and to circulate it world wide." Greg stopped unable to continue.

Anger faded from Nick and again is replaced by uncertainty and doubt. The story sounded too preposterous to be true, but too bizarre to be made up.

"I expected you to react badly when you found the truth. I expected you to disbelieve me. It would hurt to see you leave my life, but if you decide to leave. I won't stop you."

Nick looked at him, now with empathy. He still didn't know if he believed it or not, but he decided Greg was worth the chance.

"What can I do to prove to you that it is the truth?" Greg asked.

Nick didn't answer him.

"I knew Riddick Hansen, Robert Hansen's father. He was one of the few scientists I actually trusted. It turned out he truly was my man through and through. He never betrayed me and I am certain he instilled this truth within his son. I was at his funeral. It was oddly during the few times of the year that I am allowed back into this world. I wasn't supposed to go. I am forbidden to see my family, my wife, son, his children, my friends, co-workers anyone who knew me when I was alive. I was forbidden from seeing them. I went to the funeral though, against the wishes of Death."

"So, you were there, were you?"

"I was," Greg answered, stood up and walked over to a small box placed upon his hallway table. He took the small black box and gave it to Nick. "Your proof is in there." He sat down and lowered his face into his cold pale hands.

Nick gazed through the pictures one after another and then he found the picture of the funeral he had obviously clipped from a newspaper. There he was, sitting in the back row, just as he said. He peered over to the man sitting in front of him and then back at the picture and they were identical. Then how come he appears so different from his living picture?

His resolve softened as he looked over to the man. The love he felt so strong before came back to him.

"Greg… I…" His voice trailed off at a loss for words. "I… don't know what to say."

"Say you believe me. Say you love me? Say you trust me?" Greg pleaded with him, more with his eyes than his words. His big eyes were filled with water and desperate need for Nick's approval. For everything he had said.

"I… I believe you," Nick finally said less than convincingly. "I love you, more than I've ever loved before. And I trust you. But… could you answer a few questions of mine?"

"Anything," answered Greg.

"How come you appear different now than you did when you were alive?"

Greg sat silent there, still looking Nick in the eye trying to figure out the words to put it best. "When you're alive, genetics determines your appearance and your own personal preference. Such as, you determine if you want to have a beard or no beard. Genetics says that you are five-ten, have brown-eyed, and have brunet hair," he sighed softly. "When you're dead, your appearance is based not on genetics, but your own mental perception of yourself. I look like this, because I want to look like this. Back when I was alive, I hated how short I was. So, I made myself taller. Whatever I didn't like was replaced."

"Then, why did you keep the moles?"

"I like them. People used to make fun of them in primary school, but I always liked them. I think they make me who I am. It would be weird without them. Is there anything else?"

Nick thought about it, and all Greg said. It did in some ways make sense. If he were dead he wouldn't age, or even need to if his image was based on perception instead of genetics. His fingerprint matched perfectly, though he wondered if it couldn't have been the result for a master hacker.

"You still doubt me," Greg piped up.

"I'm sorry," Nick apologized.

"Don't be. If I were in your shoes, I'm not sure I would believe me." Greg smirked. "But, I think I have something that will prove my story to be fact." He stood from his seat and extended his hand to Nick who took it without further question. Greg took him upstairs to his bedroom, and opened up the wardrobe.

There were no clothes inside, only a porcelain basin filled with a shimmering clear liquid.

"Do you trust me?" Greg asked.

"Yes," answered Nick and stepped up to the basin's edge.

"Death," Greg called to the empty basin. "Are you there?"

"Yeah, what do you need now?" grumbled Death.

Nick jumped at the sight of the pock-faced man with clammy skin, deep black eyes, and long nearly black hair appearing within the basin.

"I would like you to meet, my boyfriend, Nick."

"Ah, so you have finally revealed your secret to the man."

"I have. I think he needs more convincing."

"Do you have time for a little trip?"

"Into the Ghostly plain?" chirped Greg who instantly looked at Nick. A fearful expression crossed his lover's face.

"Do you think it would be possible for you to return him safely?" asked Greg.

"As long as we don't keep his soul apart of his living body too long, I believe it is," replied Death.

"Then, let us go."

Greg took hold of Nick's quivering hand and stepped closer to the basin.

"Greg, where are we going?"

"To the ghostly plain," Greg answered and gave his hand a small squeeze.

Nick closed his eyes tightly, as he felt his soul being ripped away from his body. 'Is this what it would be like to die?' he wondered as his soul felt as though it were being squeezed in a tube. When his eyes opened, he found himself standing in Greg's master bedroom exactly where he was standing just moments before. He looked around and Greg stood beside him. His eyes looked down and gasped in shock at the sight of his body lying lifelessly on the floor. He tired to get to it, to see if it was all right, but Greg assured him it was.

"Where's yours?Nick mentioned looking around. Now, he could see Greg's bedroom more clearly. It wasn't the same room he walked into, but an entirely different room. This room was large and circular with window facing every direction. However, he could still make out the features of the room he was just in. He looked around for Greg's body, but was unable to find it.

"Mine?" asked Greg.

"Yeah your body."

"In a grave in France. My body is not next to yours because I was never truly there. I had always been buried in France. My soul wanders, my body is stationary forever more."

"So… this is the Ghostly Plain."

"This is it," assured Greg who waved his hand to reveal a door. "I am not allowed to take you far from your body for long. It would be dangerous."

"How?"

"It could kill you."

Nick followed Greg through the door to a place where fortress ruins lie.

"I was three when my parents brought me here. This was just a little ways down from our house. I was born in San Francisco, where he worked as a shipping merchant. He took a job in England, because the companies offered him more pay. I came here, the day my father died. It was here where my destiny was solidified.

"Ah, I knew I'd find you here," Death walked up to the two souls.

"You do know me well," chuckled Greg. "This is Nick Stokes."

"Yes, Nicholas Stokes. You do tend to live recklessly, don't you?" commented Death.

"Hazards of the job," replied Nick uncertain of what Death meant.

"If you can avoid the brutal blows of your life, you will live to a ripe old age. But, I warn you, one false move and you will wind up in the There After sooner than you would like."

"Death, I thought you were forbidden from revealing too much about a person's destiny," scolded Greg.

"Alas, you are right, youngling. However, I feel obligated to give him just the briefest of glances without informing him of the crucial vitals."

"I thank you," Greg nodded approvingly.

Nick stood there as confused as ever. He looked around the place and he could still see glimpses of the world around him. One thing was certain. He wasn't in Las Vegas any more. Nick, leaped into the air as he could swear a double-layered bus was about to run him over. The appearance of such a thing didn't startle either Greg or Death, but Nick had never seen such a thing.

Greg glanced down upon his watch and pulled up another door.

"Follow me," Greg tugged Nick through the door to a grassy field.

"Where are we?"

"Somewhere in France, I believe," answered Greg. "This is where it happened. Where my life was ended. Right in that very crevice." He pointed to the ground. "You'll want to watch your step. This field was mined in the Second Great War, not all of them were accounted for," warned Greg.

"But surely…"

"It shouldn't hurt you, but I don't want you to take any chances. You need to live," Greg reminded him.

"Right."

"One more place, and that shall be it," Greg glanced down at his watch one more time. He pulled another door out of the ground and pulled Nick through. There they stood in a fast cemetery. There were other people around them, looking down upon their own graves.

They stood in one that clearly marked with his name, age, and the day of his death. "This is where my body rests. It is among the other fallen soldiers of the first Greg War. It is here, that my body lies, and it is here, that I will remain ever more. I hope this helps."

In a entire world of new uncertainties, Nick was forced to conclude that Greg had been telling the truth the entire time. He is indeed, dead. "Is this true?" Nick whispered. "Or am I going to wake up and this is only an bizarre dream?"

"It's real. You'll wake up, but I promise you this is real. Ordinarily, you would forget your trip into the Ghostly Plain, but I have been assured you will remember your trip with perfect detail," assured Greg. "This is as real as anything you know back on earth. No one must know. They will experience this when it is their time and not before. You are one of the few who will ever see this place and be able to recall it just as clearly."

Nick nodded in agreement and acceptance.

"It is time. We need to get you back." Greg said making one last door reappear. They walked through hand in hand and walked up to the basin. "Hold on to me." Nick clasped onto Greg's hand as he neared the basin. He took a deep breath as the basin took him back to the room he left with Greg.

"Someone's coming, quickly," urged Greg.

"How do I get back?"

"Do you feel your body calling to you?"

"Yes."

"Give into that. Let it direct you, and pull you back to where you belong." Nick closed his eyes tight as he gave into those feelings. He felt warmth return to his body, his chest heaved for breath, as his eyes opened to look up at Greg Sanders standing above him.

"How come you're not on your ass?"

"Because I'm dead," Greg laughed merrily.

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To Be Continued... if you care enough to see this story continued... Please tell me what you think... 


	7. Draught of Living Inferno

A/N- Well, I decided that it was about time to add yet another chapter... I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I enjoyed writting it. Please tell me what you think. If you want to see something I'm doing improve... Please tell me and I will try my best to correct the problem. R&R (I don't bite... well unless you leave me a flammer which I classify as an attack upon me. If you are leaving objective stuff, I will take that and file it away to imrpove my writing. It is hard to improve when no one tells me what I can improve.) Mys

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**Chapter Seven:** Draught of Living Inferno

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**_(May 24, 1997 Las Vegas, Nevada)_**

Nick barely sat up when Catherine Willows came barging into the room shouting, "In here guys!"

A fleet of paramedics came rushing in and pressed Nick back down.

"Catherine… what are you doing?" asked Nick trying to pull himself up, only to be pushed back down by a paramedic who was now checking his vitals. "Ge'off me," Nick shouted and sat up at last. Greg stood there looking worried, Catherine too looked worried, but for a completely different reason from Greg.

"Nick, you need to be checked out," Catherine protested.

"Why? I'm fine," he stood up to prove it. His head swirled around proving upright was definitely a bad idea. If it hadn't been for Greg, he would've fallen.

"You're not fine. I found you unconscious on the floor. You can't even stand on your own. Please, let them check you out. I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine, really," he said, his head still swirling making him feel a little bit woozy.

"Maybe you should do as she says," suggested Greg pecking his cheek lovingly.

"You know there's nothing wrong with me," Nick whispered to Greg angrily.

"I know, baby, I know," Greg emphasized every syllable with a kiss. "Just do this, so she doesn't suspect. "

A shiver ran down Nick's spine as Greg called him baby. He didn't know why, but he enjoyed being Greg's lover and wanted more time to spend with Greg. The paramedics placed the stethoscope over his chest and listened for his heart beat. It was normal. They asked him to take a few deep breaths and he did. They placed the light in his eyes and asked him to see their fingers.

"Hmmm," one said and closed his kit. "I would like to take you to the hospital where we could run some tests."

"What?" Nick shouted and stood up from his sitting position. "That's absurd."

"You were passed out Nick, there's got to be a reason for it. I mean, people just don't pass out for unknown reasons." Catherine tried to reason with him. There was a reason why Nick was passed out. He just wasn't in a hurry to say it.

Of course, Catherine really doesn't need to know why Nick was passed out at all. He looked over to Greg, his eyes pleading with him to do something. Greg just gave him a sympathetic look and sat there watching as the paramedics rolled in a gurney and moved to place him on it.

"I can walk you know," said Nick agitated. He pulled himself up to a standing position. His head was still a bit woozy, but he wasn't about the fall over this time. Sure of his abilities he walked the men two the door and shut them out.

"Nick, you need to be checked out. People just don't fall down unconscious for no reason." Catherine tried to rationalize with him.

"I know Catherine. I know the reason."

"Oh?" She stood there with her hands upon her hips giving Nick a death glare.

"I can't tell you, so stop trying to weasel it out of me." It wasn't a threat, but a warning. Nick looked to Greg for strength and approval, and received it. "I passed out, because it had to be done. I had to investigate something. What it is I am not able to tell you. Nothing you say can make me tell you. It was at the request of a friend."

"Oh, so that's why Jacqui has been running fingerprints in her hidden cupboard, I suppose."

"How do you know about that?" snapped Nick.

"It's my job to know stuff, Nick. What are you hiding?"

"Nothing," he stated firmly.

"Right," she walked to the door. "I am going to inform Grissom you are ill and should not be permitted to work until you get a complete medical check up."

"Catherine," Nick moved to protest.

"No, Nick. People just don't drop unconscious. Get checked out." She walked through the door without another word.

Nick sighed and finally agreed to let the paramedics take him to the hospital he climbed in with Greg by his side and allowed him to undergo a complete check up.

Greg sat with him the entire time. They were keen on poking needles into him. A cute nurse came in several times with the tourniquet to draw blood not once, but three times for various tests. This left Nick light headed so they poked him one more time with an IV pack filled with saline. If that wasn't enough, they poked him one more time to alleviate his headache.

Several doctors came in and examined some part of him. One even requested that he have a prostate examination. He tried to reason with him that he passed out not from excreting all of his fluids, but he made a very convincing argument so he yielded to the examination. They turned him to his side and untied the back of his gown.

He gave a death-glare as they prepped him and Greg squeezed his hand. Between clinched teeth he stated, "Catherine better be pleased with this thorough examination."

"I'm sure she'll be thrilled," Greg assured and kissed him passionately on the lips.

Greg wasn't at all modest about their relationship. He never tried to hide it, though sometimes Nick wished he did. What was he kidding? He appreciated Greg being there for him holding his hand as he went through this humiliating examination. Looking into those beautiful orbs, Nick found going through the examination easier.

"Thank you for being here," he whispered.

"I wouldn't imagine being anywhere else." Greg emphasized with a kiss to Nick's nose. "Besides, when you've stopped hurting I'd like to examine your prostate for myself." He wiggled his eyebrows and kissed his nose once more. "I love you, you know. With all my heart."

"I love you to," Nick replied honestly.

He watched as the latest doctor walked out of his room and turned back towards Greg. "I swear if they send any more people in here to stick things in me, I'm leaving right now."

"No you won't," Greg scooted closer to Nick, brushing his fingers over his lover's chest.

"I know, but I want to," Nick spoke softly. "I hate doctors."

"Hey!"

"Well, maybe not ALL doctors. I am fond of one."

"Oh?" Greg sounded a bit more pleased. "Go on."

"Well, he's kind of stolen my heart away with his beautiful eyes." Nick spoke honestly. He couldn't be anything but honest. Greg was one of a kind man who he wasn't eager to lose. He's only known him for such a short time, yet he felt like he knew him better than any other person alive. Greg was a treasure that he found in the dark. A person he wanted to get to know and introduce to his mother and his father.

The thought of introducing Greg to Cisco was a frightening thought to Nick. His father was raised under the believe that homosexuality of any kind was a disease that had to be cured by being squashed out of a person. Nick had never let Cisco see that side of him. He kept it well hidden and was able to for a long while. Not because he didn't date men, because he often did as much as he dated women. It was that he never found one worth risking his relationship with Cisco before now.

His mother would love him no matter what and didn't worry about her as much as he worried about him. The nervousness inside him melted when he caught sight of Greg. He was worth losing his relationship with his parents. In past relationships with guys, the fear of ruining his relationship with his parents prevented him from taking the next step. With Greg, he felt such strong emotions he would risk his relationship with his old man.

Greg sat there, gently rubbing his chest, his arms and giving the man he loves support. In a few short days he will be unable to provide any, so he feels it is best to give it whenever he can as often as he could. There wouldn't be a time when he would deny him physical pleasure, his love, or his adoration. When they got back home, Greg promised that he'd make tender love with Nick.

A doctor walked in with a serious face carrying a notebook in his hand.

"Well, what else do you feel like doing to me?" Nick bickered. The doctor hummed and went to check his vitals off the monitor again.

"I see you might be a little bit agitated," the doctor commented on his raised blood pressure and quickened pulse.

"Oh? What gave you that idea?" Nick glared angrily at the man. "Figure out why I passed out?"

"Actually, we're trying to figure out why it is that you are conscious," replied the doctor looking at him curiously.

"What do you mean?" asked Nick.

"Well, your blood sugar levels are extremely low. You are also low in salt, water, and iron, so by conventional knowledge you should be passed out, near death in fact. It is no wonder you have a headache." He continued to look at his vitals.

"So, you give me what I need and you discharge me, right?" barked Nick.

"Well, that's the general plan," replied the doctor. "However, we want you to stay around a while just in case there are complications to what we're about to do."

"What would that be?"

"We simply plan to give you the cocktail your body requires and wait to see what happens. If everything is fine, we will let you go and continue on with your life."

"What could go wrong?"

"I am not certain. I've never seen a conscious man have such low blood sugar, iron, water, or salt and still be awake before. You have a very unique case Mr. Stokes. I will send the nurse in to give you another bag of saline in a few moments."

Nick looked over desperately to Greg who shrugged not knowing what was normal for a person who crossed into the Ghostly Plain. He wished he had his basin with him so he could ask Death about returning back to his body. There were already so many things that they simply didn't know. Then again, this could be simply the normal thing when a soul leaves its still-living body.

Moments later, a nurse walked in carrying another IV bag filled with saline and connected it to the line. "I will be back with the insulin," she said kindly and walked out of the door.

The cute little nurse came back as promised with a needle in her hand.

"Do ya got to?" griped Nick who was tired of being stuck by needles.

"I'm afraid if you want to be back to your normal self we'll have much of a choice," she stuck him with the needle making Nick feel even more like a pincushion. He winced at the intrusion of yet another puncture wound to his body. However, the results from the insulin were nearly instant. He felt as though he could take on the world single handed.

However, he was still bedridden by the doctor's order. Greg continued to sit there by his side, holding his hand. Having Greg by his side calmed him and soothed him. He whispered sweet promises in his ear for seduction and sex later.

Nick was amazed about how well Greg was at the dirty talk. He knew exactly what to say and precisely which buttons to push to make his insides cringe with want and desire. The way Greg's deep brown eyes gazed lovingly into Nick's stealing the air from Nick's lungs. Words of passion, love, desire, longing were spoken through their eyes, making each groan in anticipation of what was to come. Though, it probably wouldn't happen the way Greg wanted it until at least tomorrow.

Their lips interlock as they passionately kiss. Nick's arms wrap around Greg's slender form and pulled him closer holding his lover tight. He needed the physical closeness. He needed Greg to be there for him. Tongues explore nearly down the other's throat.

"Hm-mmmm" someone cleared their throat loudly. Greg pulled away from Nick, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and lust-full desire. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but…" his eyes traveled down Greg's still-outstretched hand which happened to rest upon Nick's nether regions. "…I see," he tore his eyes away from the intimate gesture. "That does explain your presence I suppose, yes…" he spoke mainly to himself than to either of the men in the room. "Well, Mr. Stokes. We are going to hold you overnight for observation. If your vitals continue to look as well as they are now, you will be free to leave with a clean bill of health."

Nick wanted to argue with the man, but held his tongue when Greg's finger pressed firmly over his lips. All he wanted to do was to go home and take Greg to bed as promised hours earlier.

"I will go get you some clothes from your place," Greg stood from the chair he sat in most of the day. He braced his hands against his back as he straightened up and took Nick's house keys. "It's the condos near the lab, correct?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?" Nick asked taking his head within his hands.

"I looked it up," Greg answered and walked out of the door.

Again, his head began to throb with a near-mind-splitting headache. It had dissipated after a while, but it was now coming back with a vengeance.

"That same headache again?" asked the doctor making a note on his clipboard.

Nick nodded still clutching his head in pain.

"I will tell the nurse to give you some more pain killers. I want to know if this headache persists. I will see you in the morning. Do try to contain your impulses. I understand he's a very beautiful man, but this is a hospital. Someone will be in early in the morning to draw some blood. Just to make sure you're blood is back to normal. I'll see you in the morning." He turned and walked out.

Just as promised a nurse came in with a needle in hand and to Nick's relief injected it into his IV line still dripping saline into his veins.

"There you go, Mr. Stokes." She blushed.

"Please, call me Nick," the nurse stopped and smiled.

It was clear to Nick that she was single and looking. Not only that, but she found him physically desirable. A week ago, he might have considered hooking up and giving it a shot. Now, it was the last thing from his mind, but he enjoyed playing the game.

"Please stay? I hate being alone in hospitals." Nick spoke softly and tenderly. He knew it was wrong to speak so sweetly to a girl so interested in him, but he rather she stay than leave him to himself. She took a seat in Greg's vacated spot promising only to stay for a few minutes. She smiled sweetly and placed her hand over the railing.

"It says on your charts that you were found unconscious for no given reason?" she asked rather interested in the story. "I was hoping maybe, you'd tell me what the real reason was. I mean obviously, you're not sick."

Nick looked at her with vocation in his eyes. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you that."

"Surely, it would benefit you in the grand scheme of things if we knew what caused this condition."

"I'm aware of that, but believe me. If it needed stating I would have stated it. Since the condition was not one that I believe requires stating, it is within my ability not to. In fact, I believe it best in the grand scheme of things if I did not state the reason." Nick put it as bluntly as he could. The Nurse stood from the seat with a huff and strutted away flinging her hair over her shoulder as she walked through the door.

The next person to walk through his door was none other than Catherine Willows.

"Hey there," she whispered and took a seat next to him. "Greg called me and told me they admitted you. I'm glad you decided to get looked at."

Nick glared upon her, mostly because it was her that he was admitted to this horrible place.

"Yeah, don't mention it," he nearly rolled his eyes in sarcasm. "They said nothing was wrong with me except low levels of sugar, salt, iron, and water," added Nick who purposely tried to convince her that she worried for nothing. "Did you find anything with the diary or was it a complete bust?"

"Bust," she sighed.

"I'm telling you, that thing was meant to be read by exactly one person." Nick stated matter-of-factly.

"You might be right, but who?"

"Not sure," Nick reached up for his head. The headache wasn't going away. The drugs were starting to make him loopy and incapable of coherent thought. "Look, my drugs are starting to kick in. I've got a mind-splitting headache…" he breathed heavily.

"I understand. I just wanted to see how you were."

"I'd be fine as soon as this headache goes away… UGH!" he cried out in agony.

"Do you need me to get someone?"

"Not sure," he moaned in pain. "It's getting worse," Nick muttered his hands firmly attached to his head. "ARGH!"

Catherine refused to leave her co-worker in this state and pounded the call button for the nurse's station.

"May I help you Nick?" A sweet voice asked.

"Yes, we need a doctor in here, now." Catherine stated firmly. She took hold of Nick's sweaty hand and held it tight. His breathing began to quicken and became more forced. She feared for her co-worker and study.

A pair of doctors rushed into the room. It was as though they were standing ready for something like this. Greg quickly followed hurried to see what the commotion was about. Catherine stood there with her hands over her mouth and Nick in a horrible state. He looked worse than he did all day.

"Bethany," the doctor shouted at the young nurse. She came in slowly her face appeared emotionless. Greg stood there horrified at his boyfriend his lover crying out in agonizing pain clutching his head with all his strength.

"You called," she said with the same emotionless voice.

"Yes," the doctor answered promptly. "What did you give this young man?"

She stood quiet, unmoving and unblinking. "What you told me to," she answered after sometime.

Greg wasn't an expert on lies, but he could definitely tell that she had lied to him.

"That's bullshit and you know it," the doctor stated firmly. "Maryanne," he called out loudly. Catherine gave Bethany a critical glare. She too caught the feeble lie Bethany stated so freely.

"You need something Dr. Bright?" She asked pointedly.

"Yes, I need you to get me some Benadryl this man is having a severe allergic reaction." Maryanne rushed away and came back instantly with the Benadryl in hand. Catherine suspected it wasn't an allergic reaction though. She suspected it was sabotage. Now, all she had to do was prove it.

She glared at the young nurse for a bit, who now seemed fearful of the people who surrounded her.

Greg shot to the chair and clasped onto Nick's hand. He was in so much pain and agony that Greg did not know what to do for him. He held his hand tightly and spoke love-filled words to his lover every now and then looking back over his shoulder angrily at Bethany who still stood there watching the two doctors undoing her handy work. It took two hours to get him where he wasn't screaming out in agony.

Greg watched Catherine follow the doctors and Maryanne out of his lover's room so it was only a sedated Nick and Bethany left.

"Don't think I didn't know who he was," Bethany said venomously to Greg. "Tell your brother if he gets in my way again, he'll have a lot worse to deal with than Draught of Living Inferno." She turned on her heels and walked out of the room.

He instantly recognized the title of the substance. It was the very substance he had locked away in his basement laboratory and refused to open. It was one of the three potions he refused to give to the general all those years ago. Glancing over towards Nick, his heart sank.

Running from the room, he found the doctors deep in a serious discussion about Nick's condition. Bethany stood there, talking to Catherine.

He ran to her.

"How long has it been since you've poisoned him?" Greg asked harshly. When she didn't answer, he pushed her to the wall and braced her tightly there. "HOW LONG ANSWER ME… HOW LONG?"

"Long enough," she laughed sadistically.

Greg decked her hard on the cheek. "I promise you, if ANYTHING happens to him. If he dies, YOU die." Greg turned on his heels and ran to the parking lot. He didn't have time to call for a cab this time. He took out Nick's cell phone from his pocket and called the only person he could think of.

"Catherine?" he asked his voice shaking.

"Greg?" She asked questioning.

"Yeah, listen I don't have time to explain. Nick's been poisoned the doctors won't find the cure in time I have the cure in my laboratory, but I have to get there as soon as possible and back. I'm going to hotwire your Denali."

"Greg, listen…" She tried to calm him down.

"No, you listen," he smashed her window with Nick's house key. "Nick might not have time, this poison Draught of Living Inferno, it's brutal. It will kill him. Don't let Bethany out of your sight. She knew what she was doing." He reached under the driver's console and tore off the plastic covering. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his Swiss pocket knife and pulled out the scissors and snipped the wires placed his pocket knife back in his pocket and pulled out two quarters. "I will see you as fast as I can. I'm turning on the lights."

"Hurry," she urged as he made contact igniting the Denali's engine.

He flipped on the siren and lights and peeled away from the hospital. He made it to his place in record time. Running downstairs he knew exactly what he was looking for. There, in his store closet sat a corked beaker marked, 'Antidote to DOLI' he took it from his stores, and ran back out of the house.

'Please let me be in time,' he thought as he made contact with the ignition again cranking the engine of the Denali and drove away with the fastest speed he could muster. He wasn't supposed to be driving. He hadn't a license to drive. However, he went speeding down the way, his lights flashing siren blaring as he reached the hospital.

He ran back to Nick's room to find it vacated. Running back out to the hall he collided with Catherine.

"Do you have it?" Greg nodded. "He's been taken to ICU. He's not looking so good, Greg."

"Level two room 201A." Catherine shouted and Greg took off down the hall.

He hadn't a moment to spare and rushed down to the ICU level. He barged into the room, to see them working on Nick.

"Does he still have a pulse?" Greg asked desperately.

"Yeah, but it's weak. If we don't find something to cure it soon, we'll lose him."

"I have something," Greg stated. "I'm a medicinal chemist. I've been working on a cure for that poison all my life. Three years ago, I was successful. I didn't think any of the original poison was left, so I just kept it. Take it."

"Are you certain this is an antidote?"

"Yes, he's been injected with Draught of Living Inferno."

"Never heard of it before."

"It was created for the First World War by my Great Grandfather. He never let it circulate, but someone got their hands on it. He tried to create the antidote, but was unsuccessful. As was his son and his son, so it was up to me. I managed it. Yes I assure you it is the antidote."

Greg had never been surer of anything.

"You need to inject him now. He doesn't have much time left." Greg was frantic knowing exactly who created Draught of Living Inferno. He knew exactly what it did to people having witnessed it on three prisoners of war with his very eyes. He wasn't destined to make the antidote to this poison, but it was something he felt obligated to do.

The potion was stolen from his laboratory after his death. That hadn't been a lie. It was used in the war, but only once and the men like Greg were horrified at the results and vowed never to use it again. The scariest thought in Greg's head was that somewhere out there was this chemical compound and his biggest fear was that someone would be able to synthesize it. To his horror it has been and now his boyfriend was dying from it.

He stood there fearful and watched as the doctor filled the large syringe with the antidote and stabbed it into his lover's chest. Greg recalled how Nick complained bitterly about being used as a pincushion. He hated giving him one more puncture wound, but Greg knew it would save his life. He couldn't ask it of Nick to wander the Ghostly Plain. He just couldn't.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Death materialize, in his ghostly form and Greg gulped. He hoped he hadn't been too late in getting Nick the antidote. Death looked grim, but he always had that appearance. He moved swiftly to Greg's side.

'Is he going to die? Did I get here too late?' Greg asked Death through his head.

'That is up to him at this point,' replied Death solemnly.

Greg watched the heart monitor as though his own temporary life depended on the strength of the thumps. Death stood next to him all the while. His pulse began to strengthen. Hope flooded the doctor's faces as his antidote began to work.

Excitement over took him amazed that something he created actually worked. He barely had a chance to test it to see if it was effective on the poison. To Greg's relief it was and his boyfriend is getting stronger and stronger.

'Your lover boy will be fine. He's managed to evade this fall of the gavel. I hope he is as lucky in his future endeavors.' Death stated and vanished from the room.

The news hadn't settled into his gut just yet. Nick was going to make it. He was already showing strengthening heart beats and his breathing was up.

"Well, you managed to get him that just in the nick of time." Nick's doctor stated. "How did you know?"

"She told me what it was. I recognized it immediately and knew that you'd have nothing to reverse its effects with."

"Are you going to send this through the FDA?" the doctor asked.

"Me? I'm not certain." Greg sighed. Perhaps it might be a smart to send it to a scientist to get it out there. Just in case any more cases of Draught of Living Inferno finds its way into the public at large. Greg's bigger concern was where Bethany got such a lethal poison.

That's what really worried him.

* * *

To Be Continued...

A/N: I do not encourage anyone to hot wire a car (it is slightly more involved than what I have stated. I have chosen not to go into the exact detail. Yes I have hotwired a car before. No, I have not taken a car that does not belong to me. Also it has become slightly more challenging due to the amount of anti-theft devices and precautions.)

I do not own the characters or likeness of characters from CSI. Unfortunately, I wish I did, but they created them first... DARN IT!

Please R&R.


	8. Bittersweet meetings

**Angel**  
An **EVELMYS** Story

--  
Chapter Eight:  
Bittersweet Family Welcomes  
--

(May 28, 1997 Las Vegas, Nevada)

* * *

When Catherine stepped into the room, she was not surprised to see Greg sitting next to Nick with their hands interlocked. It was hard for her to believe that anyone could fall so deeply in love so soon after meeting. Nonetheless, she couldn't deny that there wasn't love present in Greg's eyes, actions, and each tear he cried.

"I'm sorry for interrupting," she spoke softly Greg didn't answer he just kept his focus solely upon Nick. "Nick's parents will be here shortly."

"Good, he'll need them," replied Greg dryly.

"Greg, Nick's father's a homophobe. He won't be pleased…"

"I don't care. I'm not leaving him Catherine. Even if Nick's father was the pope I still would not leave his side. I'm still not going anywhere. I love him and he loves me and right now he needs me right where I am."

Catherine had nothing to say to that. How could she? The love in Greg's eyes, his need to be with the one he loves struck Catherine in her most vulnerable points. In several ways she envied Nick having found someone he can open his heart to without fear of hurt and pain. In her heart, she knew Greg would always be there for Nick and once again her heart began to weep because that was something she's never found. All she could figure was that it had to be true love.

She stayed for a while thinking about what Nick said about Greg. Was it true, that Greg knew who the Hansen's were? Then it struck her that he might be the person that Robert was searching for, but she wasn't sure about approaching him. One thing was certain, now was not the time to ask. Perhaps after Nick was awake and returned home she might ask.

"Well, I have to get going. Lindsey will be home soon, and I should spend some time with her. Listen, Greg. I know you love him and all, but you need to get some sleep. He'll want to see you in top form."

"Thanks Catherine, but I'll manage." He gave a weak smile and watched as she turned to leave.

No matter what happened with Nick's parents, Greg knew he wasn't going to leave Nick's side. Guilt riddled his emotions. After all, it was HIS poison that made Nick like this. His poison that nearly killed the man he loved. He cried knowing how wrong it could have gone. If he had been moments later, Nick would have been beyond saving.

Greg tried to remind himself that he got there in time. Nick wasn't dead, merely sleeping. He watched the subtle rise and fall of his chest and each time they rose he reminded himself again that he was alive. His love was alive.

Nurses, walked in and out, recording Nick's condition, his doctors wanted constant updates on every minor change.

A little after the lunch hour, Nick's doctor finally did walk in.

"Any change?" Nick's doctor asked.

Greg shook his head. "No, he's still sleeping. I wish he'd wake up. There are so many things I need to tell him before I go out of town."

"So, that's why you've been so keen to stay every waking moment with him?"

"Yeah," Greg ran his thumb over Nick's hand.

"You shouldn't feel bad."

"I shouldn't?" he lifted his eyes from Nick's near lifeless body to catch the doctor's bright blue eyes. "It was my great grandfather's poison that poisoned him. Why shouldn't I feel bad?"

"Least you forget that it was you who saved his life. Without that beaker you handed us, that poison would have killed him."

"That's not what's troubling me," Greg sighed. "That poison has been tabooed. It was never to be used again. Why is it being synthesized now? Who's synthesizing it? How did they know how?"

"I don't know," the doctor replied solemnly. "What I do know is that Nick's vitals continue to strengthen it is only a matter of time before he wakes up."

"I hope you're right."

"Don't worry, I am. You should be proud of yourself. You saved his life."

"I am pleased, but…"

"Have faith. He'll wake in time to see you off," the doctor smiled weakly and left the room.

Minutes passed like hours, hours passed as though they were days. Greg held onto his love's hand and prayed for him to wake up. Gil Grissom stopped by and left without so much as a word. It was better like that. Greg was tired to talking to people.

His focus remained on Nick. Nothing else in the world mattered. Not even why Bethany poisoned him. The only thing that mattered to Greg was Nick and his health.

Without warning Nick's brown eyes opened. Overtook with surprise, Greg choked on his Blue Hawaiian coffee before falling head first into the floor. A weak hackling chuckle sounded through the room as Greg pulled himself up and glared at Nick.

"That wasn't nice," Greg glared in mock anger.

"Funny though," said Nick weakly. His voice was still tinged with pain, but at least he wasn't screaming in agony. That might have something to do with the epidural than anything else. Greg knew it would take some time before the lingering effects from the Draught of Living Inferno to wear off.

"How are you feeling?" Greg asked carefully.

"I'd feel wonderful," he smirked weakly. "If I hadn't been run over by a freight train… You been here the whole time?" Greg nodded.

"Listen, Nick. Tomorrow at sundown I will have to return to the GP."

"Tomorrow? I thought you didn't have to leave until the 29th." Nick gripped with a little more strength than he had moments ago.

"Tomorrow is the 29th, Nick. You've been asleep since the 24th."

"Oh," his voice trailed off. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spend all our time sleeping."

"Don't worry about it. You're forgiven. You are free to live in my house whenever they let you out of this place. I'd guess they'll be keeping you here for a while longer. Well, at least until you can manage without the epidural."

That was the last thing Nick wanted to hear. He hated being in the hospital. Ever sine Nick was a kid he's hated hospitals. Some of his worst memories of his life occurred in the sterile halls of these facilities.

He could remember it as though it happened just yesterday. His pregnant mother took him by the hand and placed him in the car. None of the other kids had to go, but Nick was the youngest and wasn't capable of taking care of himself yet. He waited out in the hall as his mother screamed in pain, and cried in sorrow at her still-born child.

The shrill shrieks Nick could still hear to this day.

The memory of hospitals worsened a year later when Grandfather fell ill and died within the sterilized walls. To this day, Nick still associated the smell of disinfectant to death.

Still, the worst experience with hospitals he had happened when he was nine. His mother found him sitting in her darkened room, knees drawn to his chest, tears streaming down his face. His mom asked him what was wrong, but he was unable to say. Worried, she took him to the hospital horrified to learn some of the events of that night. It relieved Nick that she never learned the full extent of those horrors.

Greg sat with him, his fingers interlaced with Nick's calmed him down on a fundamental level. It was nice not to have to endure this alone. But that would all change tomorrow at dusk.

"Do you have to leave?" Nick asked hopeful.

"It would be dangerous for me to stay," Greg answered seriously.

"I don't want to be here alone."

"You won't be alone. Your parents are coming later today. Catherine has been here as often as she can spare a moment, and you have the mother hen of doctors who insists on checking up on you every fifteen minutes or so."

"I wish you could be here with me," griped Nick.

"I will be. Even in the GP I will be by your side, love. Always by your side," he leaned over and kissed his love. "I'm not going anywhere until I am forced to." There was no deceit in Greg's eyes. He spoke the truth and Nick kissed him passionately for the comforting words. Nick knew no matter where Greg was his heart and soul would be there with him. He'd never go through life without Greg's love on his side.

The sun sank below the horizon the end of the twenty-eighth day of May was quickly coming to a close. Greg continued to sit by Nick's side. He was sleeping at present. Greg was sure there'd be a lot more of that in the following week.

It was a quarter past nine when a married couple walked in. They were both elder people, with graying hair and intense presence. Greg could only guess them to be Nick's folks. The lady had a striking resemblance to Nick. Her soft brown eyes were identical to Nicks. Greg could see little resemblance of his father in Nick. There were certain similarities in the facial area, but his father stood a good three inches taller and had half the build. If a man were to be defined as stringy, Nick's father would fit the mold.

The pair stopped when they saw the man sitting quietly next to their son, stroking his hand fondly.

"Excuse me, I wasn't aware that there was someone here," his mother stated pointedly. She had the air of entitlement around her. It was as though there was no one of higher authority in the room than she. Her husband appeared to back up her sentiments, but Greg refused to budge from his seat.

"You must be Mr. and Mrs. Stokes," Greg glanced at them and then focused his attention back towards Nick. "I was told that you would be arriving today."

"Yes, and who are you?" Mr. Stokes asked with the same tone in his voice as his wife.

Greg didn't want to lie to Nick's parents, but he didn't want to tell them the truth either. So he answered the only way he could without making things worse. Well, so he thought.

"Someone who cares deeply about your son," answered Greg. It was the truth after all. Though he didn't give Mr. Stokes the exact details of their relationship.

"Well, do you mind leaving us to our son?"

"Yeah, I mind," Greg replied. "I'm sorry, that came out wrong. It's just I promised him that I wouldn't leave his side. I don't intend to break my promise to him."

"It's true," the doctor walked in the room. "Mr. Sanders has rarely left Nick's side. In fact, if it wasn't for Greg's devotion to your son, I doubt he'd be alive this moment. It was after all, him who brought the antidote to that living fire poison."

"Then, I think we owe you a bit of gratitude," stated Mrs. Stokes.

Mr. Stokes' thoughts however seemed to be occupied with disturbing thoughts. They appeared to ail his brain in some way. He grimaced at the notion of his son being poisoned, but not nearly as much as with what the poison was.

"Living fire…" he muttered under his breath. "Did he say living fire as in Draught ofLiving Inferno?" Mr. Stokes questioned Greg.

"That's right, Draught of Living Inferno." Greg answered.

A gasp left Mr. Stokes' mouth. Horror filled his eyes as he looked down upon the sleeping body of his son.

"Honey?" Mrs. Stokes began to worry. "Bill?"

"Oh, Poncho," Nick's father cried. "Not you."

"What is it?" shrieked his wife frantic now. The reaction of her husband frightened her severely.

"You don't need to worry about that," he snapped. Looking towards Greg, "That doctor said you saved his life?"

"That's right."

"How did you cure him?" Mr. Stokes demanded and moved into a very uncomfortable place for Greg.

"Well, not cure… exactly," Greg tugged his collar. "I haven't been completely successful at curing it, but stopping its effects, I think I've proven its effectiveness. Your son will not die from this poison. I am certain whoever poisoned him had no idea that I had the closest thing to a curative in the world. Unfortunately, the fire will remain with Nick throughout the rest of his life. However, I will continue to work on a cure, and I promise you, the moment it becomes certain and proven, I will cure your son from this torment."

It was a promise Greg intended to fulfil no matter how long it took. Nick would one day be free of the fire that consumes him.

"What will happen to him?" Nick's mother appeared very worried and very pale, tears swelling up in her eyes. "Will he ever be normal again?"

"If you mean capable of living a normal life, I believe so," Greg tried to assure Mrs. Stokes. "Listen, tomorrow I will have to leave town. Nick will need you more than you will know. Unfortunately, this poison will continue to give him grief for a bit longer I daresay. He's been given an epidural. That should limit the amount of pain he feels right now. The pain will continue to lessen as time goes on. Tell him if he needs something it can be found in the wardrobe. He'll know what that means. If you will excuse me, I have to go see someone." He flung his rucksack over his back and left Nick with his parents.

He wasn't lying when he said he had things to take care of. Nick would be well taken care of in the presence of his parents. They raised him after all. He stepped up to the payphone stationed in the lobby and called the local cabbie company. It was one of the few numbers he had remembered by heart.

Half an hour later the cab pulled up at the hospital and Greg slid in. "Las Vegas Crime Lab," he gave the address to the driver through the small slot in the bullet proof glass.

"Sir," the driver said and pulled away from the hospital. It took no time at all to reach the lab. Greg paid his money before stepping out into the street.

The lab appeared different than how Greg imagined it would be. By the way Nick talked about it over dinner, the pictured it to be a sophisticated building. However, it appeared as every other building around it. There was nothing special about it. HE paid the cab and walked up to the glass door.

A sign hung from the door reading, "Everything packing, Boxes, Envelopes, Tape, Packing peanuts, and Bubble Wrap." For a second, Greg wondered if the cabbie took him to the wrong building. It was the right address though, so he pushed through the door to find a nicely decorated reception area.

"Evening," the desk attendant greeted Greg nicely. "How may I help you?"

"I am looking for Catherine Willows. Is she here?"

"She's in one of the labs processing. Just one moment please," she picked up the phone and called for Catherine.

Not but mere moments later did the woman appear through the door.

"Greg, what a pleasant surprise," she walked towards him. "How's Nick doing?"

"He's with his parents now. Listen, I think you might be in danger." Greg put it frankly.

"What do you mean?" Catherine asked not sure if she believed Greg or not.

"Bethany, she knew who he was. She knew he was working the Hansen case. She tried to kill him and she would have succeeded if I was just a single moment slower…"

"Greg, we arrested Bethany McKnight. She confessed to the attempted murder of Nick Stokes. She's in lock up now. We caught her."

Greg couldn't explain it in any other way. He just had this nagging feeling in his gut that told him this wasn't over. Bethany McKnight was a smart girl, she knew what she was after and Greg was willing to place money on this table to say that she wasn't acting alone.

Catherine obviously was bored with what Greg had tried to say. It was almost as though she didn't feel his information was important. On the contrary, he usually didn't act out against the Living World if he could help it. The last thing he wanted to do was impose on someone's destiny. However, he feared that he already did.

She turned on her heel and walked away. She got as far as to the doorway before Greg could find the words to say.

"You're in danger," he stated frankly.

She turned her head back to the frantic young man. "We're always in danger, Greg. It's one of the hazards of this job."

"I know, but this is real."

"They're all real. I know twenty people right now in the Clark County Prison who would be more than happy to see me dead."

"Those are locked up. I'm talking about one that's free." Greg tried to reason with her.

"We caught the person, she confessed."

"There's more," Greg sighed. His heart was racing, he hadn't much time left to do what he needed to do and then to get back to Nick. "Listen, I don't have much time. Tell me how did you find my house?"

"When Nick didn't show up I called his phone, when he didn't' answer, I called it again and had Archie triangulate Nick's relative position," answered the blonde.

"Did you document it, record its location, anything where another person could find it?" he asked frantically.

"Yeah, it's procedure."

"What you are going to have to do is delete that information from your system. Take whatever evidence you need and take it to my house. You'll be safe there. The house is protected."

"I will need a laboratory to work the case with."

"Not a problem," Greg assured her. "If you go into the study, four shelves over, seven shelves high, tug the Brother's Grimm, it should open the passage way. Inside you will find stairs that will lead you to a basement. The basement contains a fully operational laboratory. Feel free to use it. It will have everything you need."

"You want me to go now?"

"No, I want you to drop me off at the hospital. Go pack what evidence you will need, go home pack up some belongings for you and your daughter. Then, I want you to pick up Lindsey and take her there. When Nick arrives tell him I will be back as soon as I'm able."

Catherine could see the fear in Greg's eyes and could hear his voice saturated with uncertainty and unease. It struck her odd to see him in such a state. This was the person who kept his cool the entire time Nick's mind was burning himself to death. Greg always seemed so together that it frightened her to hear him so tense about this situation.

It was early in the morning before Greg made it back to the hospital. Most of his night he spent, helping Catherine pack up the evidence she needed, and writing Nick a lengthy love letter filled to the brim with scandalous dirty talk and all the love Greg could write down into words. One letter for each day he wouldn't be with Nick. It was the least he could do. Of course, it would be up to Catherine to do the job to hide them systematically throughout the house.

When he reached Nick's new room, he hoped to sneak in there and pretend like he'd never been gone. However, there was at least five people standing around his love's bed and all he could manage was to step inside without much notice from them. Of course, Nick noticed right away.

"Hey," Nick whispered, his eyes beaming towards Greg. "I missed you."

The whole gathering of Stokes' turned around to see Greg standing there.

"Missed you to," Greg took a tentative step closer.

"Mom, can you give us a moment, please?" Nick requested. To Greg it sounded more like a desperate plea than a request, but his mother took it to be polite.

"Sure, sweetie," she gave her husband a stern look along with her other children. Single-file they left the room so they were to themselves.

Greg approached the bed and took his seat.

"I was worried when I woke up and you weren't here."

"I know, I'm sorry." Greg took his usual spot next to Nick. "Are you feeling any better? You look a lot better."

"I'm feeling great. The doctor reduced the epidural, so I can feel my toes again." Nick sounded elated and wiggled his toes enthusiastically proving his point.

"That's wonderful," smiled Greg. However, the saddened expression came over Nick's face again. It was a tormented expression that Greg hated seeing above all else.

"I was so afraid hat I had slept too late and you were gone." Tears came to Nick's eyes. "I don't know how I'm going to manage without you."

"You will find a way. Listen, I'm sorry that I wasn't here when you woke up. I intended to be, but things took a bit longer than I anticipated."

"I know," Nick took Greg's hand within his own.

"Nick, I want you to promise me something."

"Anything for you love."

"When they discharge you, I want you to return to my place. Bring your stuff, make it your place."

"I couldn't possibly," protested Nick.

"Nick, I don't want anyone to try to finish you off." Greg said fondly.

"You wouldn't mind?"

"No, I'd be honoured if you moved in with me," beamed Greg closing the distance between them and locking their lips together. "Do they know yet?"

"Haven't gotten around to telling them," Nick answered honestly his cheeks flushed.

"We will have to inform them won't we?" Greg moved to kiss his lover again. "God, how I've missed your touch," he moaned into Nick's gentle embrace. "Wish I could just lay you down and get you good an' laid before I leave."

"Why can't you?" Nick propped himself up on his elbow, batting his eyelashes.

"Someone might be watching," Greg diverted his attention to the door where there were indeed three sets of eyes peering through the narrow slit.

"I don't care. Let them see how much I love you," whimpered Nick. "I don't know when I will see you next."

"Count to eight for me, Nicky. On sunrise of the seventh day before the new moon, I will arrive and I will take you into my arms and hold you tight. We'll make sweet love," Greg kissed him over and over again.

"Please," Nick moaned pulling Greg atop of him. The motion caught Greg off guard and he tumbled onto Nick with such force.

"You really don't care?" Greg asked.

"I don't' care if they know, you're my lover, my boyfriend, my soul mate."

"You really think of me as your soul mate?" Greg beamed, his eyes widened in shock. He's never been someone's soul mate before. He never really believed such things could exist. But, that was long before he knew who Nick was. Since knowing Nick, he's had to rethink several of his beliefs. Perhaps he would have to change his views on the possibility of soul mates.

"Well, yeah, why not? I mean I've never felt so close to anyone before. It's like God awoke you from the dead just so you could be with me," Nick peppered Greg's neck with intimate kisses.

"You certain you're up for this?"

"I want to wake up on the 30th and still feel my ass stretched from you pounding me into butter."

Greg moaned. "What about them," he titled his head towards the peeping eyes in the door.

"I don't care," groaned Nick. "They can have me all next week. I only get you for a little less than twelve hours."

"Guess, it's time you've had the entire Greg experience," Greg wiggled his eyebrows at his lover.

* * *

Outside, Bill sat infuriated with his son. All he wanted to do was to walk in there and yank that dangly man off him and beat him silly. His eyes glowed red with anger, but Jillian refused to let him go back inside and tear that man out of his arms. 

"What do you mean I can't go in there and set things right?" barked Bill angrily.

"He's not a little boy anymore, Bill. He's a grown man. He can make decisions on his own. We may not necessarily understand the decisions he makes, or approve of them. But they are his to make; not ours." Jillian reasoned. If one thing was certain she was not going to let her husband's prejudice ruin Nick's happiness.

When she first walked into the room, she couldn't understand why he was sitting there, holding his hand, tears rolling down his cheek. The more she saw him though, the more it became obvious that Greg was truthful when he said he cared fondly for Nick. In fact, it was that very phrase that let her know that he and Nick were lovers.

"But…"

"No, our son needs that man right now, Bill. He needs what Greg is doing to him. If I were in the hospital been poisoned, you would sit by my side wouldn't you?"

"Day and night," answered Bill earnestly.

"The look on Greg's face was that of a weary man who probably has been sitting at Nick's bedside day and night holding his hand." Jillian argued. "If you had to leave town for a length of time while I was still in the hospital and I needed you to make intimate love to me, you would, wouldn't you?"

"Without question," answered Bill with the same honesty as before.

"That's what Greg's doing for Nick right now. Four months Bill, he'll be gone for four months beginning this evening. This is probably the last time they'll be able to share their intimacy until Greg returns. Let them share it."

"I didn't raise my sons to be queers," Bill argued.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes it matters," Bill spat. "He's not supposed to be getting laid down like some woman."

"Nick's still your son. I won't let you disown him for who he has chosen as his life partner. Greg's a good man, with a good heart and he will make a fine addition to our family."

"And if I refuse to let him into MY home?"

"Then, you won't have him in YOUR home. And you shan't find me in YOUR home either." Jillian stood up. That was her final word. It was either Bill could except that Nick chose a male lover, or he could find himself without Jillian. She wasn't about to tolerate his prejudices tear apart their family.

The way Bill saw it. He didn't have much of a choice. He loved Jillian with all his heart and the thought of losing her was enough to give Greg a fair shot. One thing was certain it will definitely take some time to get used to seeing his son with another man in his arms.

Greg emerged a little later cheeks still flushed. Nick's mother approached him and he was very cautious about her presence. He was expecting her to say something, not to instantly take him into her arms and hug him as though he were another member of the family.

He moved to say something, but Jillian took him by the hand and invited him down for a little discussion.

"Thank you for all you've done for Nick. We really appreciate it," Jillian said nicely enough.

"It's no problem Mrs. Stokes."

"Please, deer, call me Jillian. All my other children's husbands and wives do," she beamed.

"You think of me as part of your family?" Greg asked dumbfounded.

"I've never seen Nick so comfortable, so open around another person before."

"Thanks, Jillian."

"So, how long have you been seeing my son?" Mr. Stokes asked.

"Bill, that's really none of our business," Jillian scolded her husband. "All that matters is he's here now."

"Thanks. We haven't been seeing each other for that long. We met a week ago, instantly hit it off."

"And you say that you love my son?" Bill asked harshly.

"I would say I love your son more than I've ever loved anybody in my life," Greg answered, never breaking eye contact. "And that's including my ex-wife and child."

"You're so young to have been married and a father."

"I thought it was love, what I had with her I was wrong. But it didn't stop me from fathering her child. Honestly, I tried to do what any gentleman would do and tried to take responsibility for my actions. I mean she didn't get pregnant by herself. So I married her, but she decided that domestic life wasn't for her, and that it was more fun to sleep around with every single man she saw. I couldn't deal, so I left. That wasn't love. Hell, I'd hardly call it a relationship. She only used me for the flesh between my legs really," Greg lied. "The judge decided to award custody of the child to her mother, and I'm all right with that."

"Sounds like a smart decision. So, now we know you tend to jump into things that are too deep for you, how do we know you will be there for the long run?"

It was a fair question in Greg's opinion. However, they all were a little bit unfair granted that he were older than the man he was talking to. Greg often found it strange to be talked down to as though he were in his twenties, when honestly he was one-hundred and five years young.

"I suppose only time will tell won't it, Mr. Stokes? I promise you that I won't take this relationship lightly. I don't pull it out for just anybody who walks by with a pretty face. I've learned my lesson. And, I know it seems quick, but I've never felt this way before. Your son has stolen my heart away. That's why I couldn't let him die. For anyone else, I might not have jumped through the hoop, but your son means that much to me that I'm willing to risk my life and every one else's life to save him."

"As long as you treat him right, I will allow you to enter my home." And that was about as close to a welcome to the family as Greg was going to get from Bill Stokes the honorable Texan judge. Coming from Bill that was like hearing "I love you and welcome to the family, son." Greg couldn't have been more pleased.

* * *

To Be Continued... 


End file.
